Aftershock
by 74days
Summary: Stiles knows something is up. Beacon Hills didn't just turn into a war-zone overnight - and as far as he can see, its only getting worse. When a massive explosion rocks the town and people start showing up dead or... different, they know it's time to put aside their differences and stop whatever is happening from ripping their town apart.
1. Chapter 1

Aftershock

**_So it goes like this: I'm only on season 6 (a few episodes in) of Supernatural, and there are a lot of things that I love about the show and a few things I hate. Mostly, I hate that they keep killing off people that I love and adore – Gabriel, Ellen, Jo... I know more people die, but I'm not there yet._**

**_So, in true 'this is my made-up version of the world' style… No one is dead unless I want them to be. Ellen and Jo are fine, Gabriel is alive and munching on M&M's and watching Casa Erotica because… well… because I said so._**

**_This is my first time dipping my toes into the Supernatural fandom, so please try not to kill me if I get a few things wrong - The Teen Wolf community have been super supportive of my mistakes and cannon divergence. _**

**_I'm going to be doing a LOT of POV switches (Stiles and Dean) in this, so if that isn't your thing, I'm sorry. _**

**_I will try to update EVERY weekday, but I take the weekends off to watch Supernatural, play SWtOR, sleep and read fanfic._**

**_I will be cross posting this on and Ao3, so you can use whatever site you prefer to read this. _**

**_I'd also like to point out that if you are on this site as a guest… I can't reply to your questions! _**

**_So… here goes! My first crossover! I hope you like it._**

* * *

It started with stupid things that seemed out of place, but normal enough. The eight year sober teacher who drank himself to death. The head cheerleader who hung herself in the closet – the illness that had more than half of Beacon Hills calling in sick to work or school. Violent arguments in happy homes, a rush of muggings and three people mauled to death by their beloved family pets. Stiles hardly saw his dad, and when he did it was always in the middle of the night when he'd stumble home, open the bottle and not even manage to lift the glass to his lips before sleep overtook his body.

"Dude, I'm telling you, something is going on. Something **_freaky_**."

"It's just bad luck." Scott said, sitting on the bench in his lacrosse gear. They weren't training, coach wasn't there and half the team had been kept at home because of the bug that was going around. Stiles had so far managed to stave off getting sick by some miracle, and Scott wasn't going to catch some measly bug with his super-wolf immune system.

"Bad luck? Dude, the town is going to hell! This morning I saw two car crashes and a fistfight on my way to school." Stiles shook his head and looked about. The air was cold, like it was early spring and the frost hadn't quite lifted, rather than the start of summer. This time last year Stiles had been wearing factor a million and had still gotten burnt sitting on the bench, this year – he was shivering.

"Looks like coach isn't coming." Isaac called over from where he was running heats with Boyd. "Wanna call it a day and go get something to eat?"

Stiles nodded, looking over at Scott, who shrugged. There was no point in staying.

* * *

Stiles sat in his bedroom and did the only thing he was actually good at – he started up Google and did some research. Typing in 'flu' he saw what the news was saying – the epidemic was all over the country, spreading fast and hitting **_everywhere_**. Crime rates were soaring all over the place as well, sleepy little towns were dangerous after dark, and more and more cases of people shooting up their workplaces or schools were being reported every day.

He sighed and threw himself back on his bed. Something was going on, he was sure of it.

* * *

Dean rolled his eyes as they drove past another burnt out car on the side of the deserted road. "Place is going to hell."

"Pretty much." Agreed his brother, nose deep in some book he'd picked up. Dean hoped to hell it wasn't 50 shades of whatever. "I can't find anywhere that's **_not_** got signs of paranormal activity."

"Well, at least we know we can count on a job wherever we go." Dean replied before fixing his eyes back on the empty road. He was used to seeing long stretches of tarmac roll out ahead of him – not so much the burning buildings and abandoned cars. It reminded him of 2014, without the mad zombies. They'd stopped the Apocalypse – so why the hell wasn't crap working out? How long would it take to get things back to normal – or as normal as anything was for a couple of beat up hunters in a car with shitty mileage.

"It'll be dark soon." Sammy commented, turning a page.

"No shit?" Dean snarked. When it didn't get a rise out of his brother, he gripped the wheel tighter and looked around. Yeah, being on the road at night wasn't anything new for them, but the way things were going, pulling over and sleeping in a layby wasn't an option. They'd need to find somewhere where idiots (not even demons, just plain ol' human idiots) didn't try to steal their shit in the middle of the night. "Where the hell are we, anyway?"

"Take the next left." Was all Sam said, eyes never leaving the page.

"What the hell are you reading?"

That, finally, got some kind of response from his kid brother, who looked up at him with a pleased expression that Dean hadn't seen in a long time. "Lord of the Flies." Sam grinned. "It was in the last motel we stopped at instead of those stupid little Bibles. I guessed no-one would miss it, so…" He shrugged, "I did a report on this at school once." He added. "I got full marks."

Dean did roll his eyes then, but his brother was already reading. Yeah, only Sammy would think a book for homework was worth reading. All Dean could remember was some shitty little poem about traffic lights. Then again, he had better things to do than school. Dean had to help dad.

The sign eventually proclaimed 'Fossil' – another tiny little nowhere on the map of America. Dean drove slower though the streets – sure enough, half the stores on Main were boarded up and the windows on most of the cars parked were smashed. He instinctively gripped the steering wheel harder. He'd make sure he parked well enough away from the main road – no one better even **_think_** about scratching his baby.

* * *

The motel room was just like any other motel room they'd ever been in. Faded wallpaper in some ugly brown and orange swirled pattern, two beds that creaked too much when you lay on them and a crappy tv that told you about all 100 channels and only three worked. The shower didn't have a curtain, and half the tiles were cracked, the toilet gargled for an hour after you flushed and you wouldn't drink the water that poured milky from the taps.

"So, Sammy, what wonders does Nowhere, Oregon hold in store for us?" Dean said, flopping down on the bed and not even noticing the screech of springs and the thinness of the mattress. He leaned over and opened the drawer between the beds – hell you never knew what goodies people left in motel rooms – but found only the cheap Bible and a receipt for a pack of gum and a skin mag.

"Probable vengeful ghost?" Sam said, opening his laptop. "Looks like Casper died in a car crash a few months ago and passengers in the car that him are being ripped apart in locked rooms."

"Been a while since we've had an old fashioned salt and burn." Dean said, feeling his eyelids droop. "Give me four hours and we'll go digging."

"No point." Sam said, clicking on a few keys. "We might as well lock up for the night and go in the morning."

"Scared of the dark, Sammy boy?"

His brother didn't even bother to respond, closing the laptop and picking up his book again. Dean kicked off his boots and punched the thin pillow a few times, and fell asleep with the sound of Sam turning the pages in the well-worn book.

* * *

When Stiles opened his eyes, it was still half dark. That didn't mean much, the mornings hadn't been bright for a while. It made waking up harder, that was about it.

He pulled on a pair of jeans, his favourite t-shirt – Scott had bought him a new one for his birthday, Green Lantern – and grabbed a shirt from the floor. He sniffed it as he walked down to the kitchen, it smelt fresh enough. Scott would tell him if he smelt bad.

His dad was already gone, note pinned to the fridge telling him that there was money in the tin for groceries, Stiles figured it was a subtle way of telling him to get his butt to the store and get the food in, and to be careful. All his dads notes ended with 'be careful' now.

He was half way through the last of the cereal – the powdery mess that gets caught at the bottom of the pack and turns into a thick slush as soon as you add the milk – when the backdoor flew open and Scott tumbled through, grinning from ear to ear.

"No one should smile like that before noon, dude." Stiles complained as Scott raided the cupboards. "We've got nothing."

"Nah, us either." Scott said, slumping into the chair opposite him. "Mom left me money to get stuff in."

"Are you just here to abuse your best friend privilege of free ride to the store?" When Scott looked utterly guilty, far more than he should for something so pathetic, Stiles grinned. "Poor show, dude, poor show."

"She's been working overtime for weeks." Scott said, slumping into the chair like a dejected puppy. "I hardly ever see her – and borrowing the car is out of the question."

"Yeah," Stiles nodded. "My dad got called out last night, another fender-bender turned into a full blown fist-fight. Luckily my baby is all beat to hell anyway – I doubt a crash would make much of a difference."

"You should probably stop using it as a battering ram, then." Scott laughed.

"Dude – I saved your miserable little life with that move!" Stiles grinned, lifting the bowl and slurping the last of the milk out of the bottom. "I just wish she hadn't paid me back with ripping two huge claw marks into the side. It was extremely awkward trying to explain that away to the auto-guy."

* * *

The store was deserted. Not just empty – **_deserted_**. They grabbed a cart each and raced each other, running and then lifting their feet off the ground and letting the carts roll them along, swinging dangerously from side to side and hitting off of the metal racks. For a couple of guys who were looking at their 18th birthdays that year, they managed to kill a couple of hours acting like kids.

Stiles didn't like the empty white spaces – when Scott was getting the Almond milk his mom loved and Stiles was trying to find some low sodium salt for his dad (who complained but couldn't actually tell the difference) the feeling of being utterly alone was almost crippling. The only sound he could hear was the 'tink tink' of the strip lighting overhead, and the hum of the huge refrigerators.

"Dude!" Scott called out as he turned the corner of the aisle. "There isn't anyone else here."

"Have you only just noticed we're alone?" Stiles said, giving his best friend a long look. "So much for those super keen senses, buddy."

"No, I mean, there is only us here." Scott responded.

"That tends to be the definition of alone." Stiles managed, rolling his eyes at the confused look on his friends face.

"No, I mean… who do we pay?"

"Huh?"

"There isn't anyone here to pay." Scott pointed out. "There isn't anyone else here."

He thought about it for a long moment. "We just take it them." He said eventually.

"I'm not stealing."

"Yeah, it's not exactly stealing if there isn't anyone here to take our money." Stiles argued. "We're here, and we're ready to pay." He shrugged, watching the play of emotion over Scott's face. "Dude, unless you know how to use a register – which might get us into more trouble if they catch you and think you're stealing money – then we **_can't_** pay." Stiles shrugged. He wondered for a few moments if the son of the Sheriff should be trying to convince his friend to steal a weeks' worth of groceries was maybe not awesome… but hey! No one was there to take their cash!

"You think we should just leave the money on the register?" Scott said, trailing behind him as he pushed the cart to the wide doors.

"That'll just mean the next guys that come in here will steal it." Stiles shrugged. "More likely that people would see the money and realise no one is there and wreak the place. We're actually being pretty responsible."

Scott didn't say anything else, so Stiles assumed that he was going along with Stiles plan. It was a great plan. His dad would never know that they hadn't paid, the food would be in the house, and Stiles had a week's worth of grocery money in his pocket and a car that needed new brake pads. Best morning at the store **_ever_**.

* * *

"Agent Green, this is my partner, Agent Clapton." Dean said, as they held up their badges to the screen door. The older woman behind it nodded. She was dressed all in black, holding tightly to the cross at her neck as she pushed open the rickety frame to let them in.

"I'm sorry," She said, as she waved them into the living room. "With all the trouble going around about here these days you don't open the door to folks you don't know."

"Sensible." Dean nodded, giving the place a quick once over as he sat down. "Always ask for I.D – you never know who you could be letting in."

Sammy gave him a constipated look that he ignored.

"We're here to ask about your son, Mrs Peters." Sam said in that comforting, gentle tone that people responded to. Might as well let the Sasquatch do his thing. "May I use your rest room?"

"Upstairs, last door on the right." The older woman smiled sadly, before turning back to Sam. "I just don't understand how this could have happened, he was such a good boy."

Dean let her voice trail behind him as he walked up the stairs. Nice house, he noted. Not too fancy, but clean and well loved. He noticed stuff like that, stuff that anyone who lived in a regular house might not – but spend long enough sleeping in your car or some fleabag motel and you appreciated little things like the notches on the bedroom doorpost beside words like 'Jake, 6years' and '8years'. Those little things that made it a home.

He pulled out the EMP detector from his pocket and quickly scanned the hallway as he walked. Sure enough, it hit red and let out a high pitched beeping when he got to Jake Peters room. He was the first kid, the passenger in the car that had crashed into Harris Wilson, killing him on impact.

As far as Sam could find, the kids in the car were drunk but the driver wasn't. He pushed open the bedroom door and looked about. Typical High School kid, he figured, the posters on the walls of football players and hot chicks in swimwear – but someone had obviously been cleaning. The carpet still stunk of bleach, and the roof would need repainted if they wanted to get rid of the splatter pattern there. Turning off the EMP, he slipped it back into his pocket and walked to the window. No yellow sulfur on the frame, but no build-up of dust either – the place was spotless. Looked like mommy had cleaned the whole place as best she could. Damn.

He walked back down the stairs to see Sammy shaking hands and giving the old '_We're sorry for your loss'_ thing that he was so good at, and Mrs Peters face crumpled a little before the mask of control quickly returned. Poor woman, Dean thought – probably had the kid late in life and obviously adored him from all the pictures and trophies and little things like childish drawings still stuck on the fridge door that hadn't been moved in years.

"Find anything?" Sam asked as they walked to the car, glistening in the dull morning light. You wouldn't have thought it was June, not with the sun hidden and the sky a washed out grey.

"Yeah, mommy here gutted the kids room – place is squeaky clean." Dean said, opening the door with a squeak. He'd need to get the oil out soon. "EMP had a party though – so we're not looking at some freaky suicide."

"Yeah, she seemed pretty adamant that Jake was a 'good boy' and wouldn't kill himself. He just got a full ride. Football."

"Sucks to be him."

"Nice Dean, real nice." Sam bitched.

* * *

As much as they didn't trust the local nightlife in Fossil, they weren't about to try digging up a grave in the middle of the afternoon.

Dean slammed the bathroom door shut, shrugging out of his suit jacket and looked at his reflection in the mirror. Despite the fact that every town had some kind of monster in it, and they'd not had a day off in about a year – he actually looked better than expected.

It helped that due to the regular **_human_** violence, working at night just wasn't viable – he'd gotten more sleep in the past 6 months than he'd had since he was a kid. Now he slept for 4 hours, got up for a piss and a parameter check, then fell back into bed for another 4.

Sammy slept right through, but then he always could sleep anywhere. Pulling off his tie and shirt, he took a good look at his body. The stitches on his hip were itching, but didn't look infected, so they were probably healing okay – and the purple bruise over his ribs was fading to a greenish yellow and only hurt when he poked it. The handprint on his shoulder had lost that swollen blister of a burn though, and had just settled into a red mark – when he ran his own hand over the skin he could feel the slightly raised shape, and it always ran a little hotter than the rest of his body, but hell – it didn't itch, didn't get infected and chicks thought it was cool, so he was okay with a little reminder that he once was saved from the pit. _An angel pulled me from hell and all I got was this lousy scar_.

"Going in the shower, Sammy!" He called through the closed door, so his brother wouldn't turn on the water in the tiny sink in what passed as a kitchenette in this place.

"Yeah." Was the only reply he got. Bigfoot was probably on his laptop watching porn, or reading that damn book. Dean wasn't sure which one he preferred.

The shower made painful noises before spitting out water so cold Dean wondered if his balls were trying to climb back into his body. Looked like it was another one of those showers where you had to get the dial just right, or you'd end up pelted with ice water, or drenched in the fires of Mordor.

No complimentary soap to steal in places like this, he'd already shoved his stuff into the corner. Unlike Sam, whose personal grooming put him up there with chicks, Dean used his bodywash to wash his hair as well as his skin, and didn't bother with any fancy crap. He'd used Sam's hair stuff once, never again. It had turned his hair into some poufy mess, too soft to even style. Nah, he thought as he scrubbed his skin (avoiding the gash on his leg as well as the stitches on his hip) he'd stick with his own stuff.

He didn't bother shaving – he'd done it that morning and hadn't got a shadow yet. He didn't really **_need_** to shower, but long days on the road and the fact that you never really knew the next time you were going to be able to stand under some warm water had resulted in him using the shower as often has he could. He ate like a pig for the same reason.

The towel wrapped around his hips was rough and faded, not worth taking with them, but it did the job well enough. He cracked the door open.

"Sammy, throw my bag over."

Moments later, his duffel, zipped and ready to go should they need to leave in a rush, landed in a heap at the door. "Thanks." He remember to add, before shutting the door again and pulling out a change of clothes. They needed to find a Laundromat as soon as possible, he was running out of clean shirts. Pulling on a pair of jeans that weren't too badly stained, and his green t-shirt, he walked back into the main room. Sure enough, Sam was had his nose stuck in a book – laying on the bed with his shoes kicked off. He'd gotten changed out of his suit too – back into jeans and a flannel shirt - Dean noticed that one of his socks was looking a bit threadbare, he made a mental note to pick him up a couple of new pairs next time they swung past a Wallmart.

"Still reading that, Sammy?" He grinned, packing up the suit into his bag carefully. "Doesn't normally take you this long to finish."

"I found 'Brave New World' in the dresser." His brother said, looking up with a grin. "How's **_that_** for luck?"

"Yeah, dude. Party on." Dean said, voice heavy with sarcasm.

* * *

Stiles was half way through packing all the food he'd not paid for into the fridge when the back door was pushed open.

"It's just me!" Scott called out, before noticing that Stiles was right there, then he grinned. "Wanna go hang out at Boyd's? His parents are out and he's managed to download a copy of that Bond film."

"I thought he'd be spending the day with Erica?" He replied, grabbing the milk and trying to fit it in the stupid drawer thing that always looked like it was going to break.

"He was, but her parents are freaking out – their neighbours house was broken into last night, and they don't think it's safe out – she's basically grounded, and you know how her parents feel about Boyd."

He nodded. Her parents, who were pretty cool about Isaac hanging around (despite the fact that his dad had been brutally murdered and he'd been a suspect) really, really didn't like their daughter hanging around Boyd. Erica argued that they were being racist (which they denied) but Stiles thought it had more to do with the fact that Boyd was most definitely interested in their daughter, and Isaac looked like he cared more about hair products. He was hanging around Danny more, since Jacksons dad got the promotion that took them to Baltimore, so they probably thought he was gay or something.

Letting your daughter spend time with a gay dude versus letting her spend time with a guy who wanted in her panties… well… no contest really. He'd not told anyone this though – because he wasn't sure if Isaac **_was_** gay, he didn't need to get on his bad side, and Erica might kill him if she heard him talking about her sex life.

A sudden explosion of noise though, knocked them both sideways. Scott let out a pained howl – his hearing was much better than Stiles, and the blast had been loud enough to make him dive under the table.

"What the hell was that?" Stiles yelled, running to the front door. Throwing it open, he saw a plume of black smoke and orange fire reach over the town. "Holy shit!" He breathed, trying to calm his heart rate. "That's the gas station!" He called over his shoulder to Scott who was still covering his ears and stumbling towards the door. "The gas station blew up!"

* * *

Why his living room was always the meeting place when shit was going down now, he had no idea, but ever since the Alpha pack had torn through the town the Stilinski couch was in hot demand.

"Look, I'm telling you." Lydia was saying with exaggerated patience, "That it wasn't an accident. Do you know how many fail-safes are in place to avoid something like that happening?"

"She's right." Stiles agreed, and not just because it was Lydia Martin, love of his life (**_almost_**, the 10 year plan was still in place) but because she actually **_was_** right. "I looked online – which probably got me flagged on some government watch list, by the way – and it's actually damn near impossible to blow up a gas station. That whole 'single match on the ground and walk away slowly as it explodes behind you' thing is just in the movies."

"It takes planning." Lydia added, holding out her empty glass to Stiles who was on his feet and half way through the kitchen to refill it before he even knew what he was doing. Damn, the girl had him trained.

"It was either bomb or a suicide thing." He called from the kitchen, carefully pouring the soda. He saw the movement rather than the person, and dropped the bottle in fright. A hand grabbed it before the plastic hit the ground, and Stiles realized who it was by the leather and the glare. "Derek's here!" He called out, only to have the rabble in his living room yell back 'We know.'

Damn them and their noses.

"Why did you call me?" Derek asked Isaac as they walked back into the room together. Derek didn't really hang out with them much. He had older, more mature things that needed doing, Stiles guessed. Isaac was the only one who actually spent any time with him, and that might have had something to do with the fact that Derek lived in Isaac's house now. He needed adult supervision or something like that, and Derek had stepped in and was his official, legal guardian. He had no idea how they managed to get the paperwork, but hey – it meant Isaac got to stay in Beacon Hills with them, and that was a good deal.

"The gas station blew up." Isaac said, not sitting on the sofa but leaning his back against the small coffee table that was inching back over the carpet with his weight.

"I know." Derek replied, not even bothering to say hey to everyone. Dick, Stiles thought bitterly, No wonder no one wanted him as the Alpha.

"We thought it might have been something… I dunno… supernatural." Boyd said to his feet. Yeah, ever since Boyd and Erica had run off together to find a new pack and had returned, bloody and beaten, the teen hadn't been able to look his Alpha in the eye.

"It's not." He shrugged, leather whispering as he moved. "It was a regular person who had been acting a bit strange and then blew it up."

"How'd you know that?" Stiles asked quickly. "No one knows what happened yet – my dad is still trying to work it out."

"I was there."

Well, that was greeted with a cacophony of questions and exclamations. Trust Derek to have prime information on the biggest thing that had happened in Beacon Hills in ages (the last time had been the 'mountain lion' loose in the school car park) and holding out of information.

"Dude!" Stiles cut over them all with a wave of his arms. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He said, looking at Stiles for only a moment before his eyes moved on to Isaac. "The car is fine."

"What happened?"

"Nothing. I filled the car, there was a guy behind me with his car – I drove off, the place exploded." He glared at Stiles. "Your father has already questioned me about my **_involvement_**."

Damn. Stiles thought. No wonder he didn't want to be there. His dad, who knew something was going on with Derek, but hadn't yet worked out what, spent most of his free time trying to pin crimes on the guy. It didn't help that every time something freaky happened in town it had something to do with the Alpha, like the kanima, or the Djin, and it resulted in Derek being in the eye of the storm. Stiles felt himself go red under the glare. It wasn't his fault! He couldn't stop his dad from putting one and one together and getting 3!

"Acting strange?" Lydia probed. "He was acting strange?"

"Yes." Derek ground out. He didn't like Lydia. Hell, he didn't really like anyone – but he **_really_** didn't think much of Lydia. Sucked to be him though, because Lydia was the only one who was able to work out Peter. "He filled up his car like normal, but… I don't know. He scent was strange, and he looked determined."

"To fill up his car?" She redhead pushed. She knew Derek didn't like her, and she didn't care.

"No. Just determined. Like he was focusing really hard on something."

"Did you see a bomb?"

"No."

"Maybe it was in his car?" Stiles cut in. "Blow up the car, get the gas station?"

"Wouldn't work." Lydia cut in. "That would just burn the gas in the pumps, not the underground reservoirs, which is what caused the plume."

Scott shrugged. "So what, we're just looking at some random guy blowing up stuff? A normal guy?"

"Looks like it." Isaac sighed. Stiles wasn't sure if that was relief or disappointment.

"Well, if it isn't anything I need to worry about, I'm going." Lydia said, getting to her feet and fluffing her hair. "Peter is taking me to the mall."

If there was one thing that was super freaky about the whole 'Peter coming back from the dead' last year, it was the 'Peter coming back from the dead and developing a freaky friendship with Lydia Martin that no one could explain'.

He was old enough to be her dad – and she assured them that nothing was going on between them with a 'Ew gross' but that didn't mean it wasn't… freaky. He took her places, the Mall, expensive restaurants, galleries in the city – anything she wanted that her parents didn't get her, Peter did.

He still made Stiles' skin crawl though, because Peter killed his niece – whom he had apparently doted on – and tried to kill Derek, and almost killed **_Lydia_** – then made her crazy. Stiles wondered if he was the only person who remembered that sometimes, when he would show up with food and smiles all round.

"Have you spoken to Alison?" Scott asked, and Stiles managed not to roll his eyes. Dude was just never giving up on that bag of crazy. At the mention of her name, Boyd got to his feet – managing to make the room feel smaller just with the amount of space he took up. Yeah, like Stiles, Boyd hadn't really gotten over the whole 'Argents are dicks' thing – being shot and tortured tended to linger in your memory longer than you'd like.

"Yes." Lydia said, pulling on her coat. "Okay," she turned, hair fanning out in a wave of bright red curls, "That's me. I've done my little 'team wolf' thing, and I'm going shopping. Next time something blows up, check if it's something I actually need to know about before calling."

She left, slamming the door as she went, although Stiles knew she was just making an exit and wasn't actually mad.

Derek frowned, and Stiles – never one to like a silence – gave a manic grin. "Well, xbox? Might as well, since we're all here."

By the time they'd set it up, Derek was gone, and Scott had stopped looking forlornly at the door Lydia had just exited. He wouldn't talk about Alison with Boyd in the room. He knew better.

* * *

Dean, bored out of his mind and fed up of Sam ignoring him, had taken a walk down the main street of Fossil while he waited for it to get dark enough to go dig up some dead dude. The town was small, like so many other places they'd drove through or spent the night. Half the shops were closed, the other half had signs over the boarded up windows that said 'We're still open!' in cheery lettering. No one hung out on the streets, no kids on bikes, no teenagers in alleyways trying to hide the fact that they were smoking. The only people he saw were the folks that **_had_** to be there, a few cars drove quickly past, not stopping just in case.

The apocalypse was over, it was supposed to be over, _done_, **_dead_**. They'd **_stopped_** it. Sammy had stopped it by jumping in that damn hole and pulling the Big Bad with him – but the world was falling apart regardless. They didn't know why – no one told them a damn thing. Now that they weren't about to be used as Angel Condoms, heaven had been pretending like they didn't exist. Bunch of dicks.

He pulled out his phone and dialed. "Hello?" A youthful voice said after a few rings.

"What did you mom say about not answering the phone?" Dean said, good naturedly, and laughed when Ben gave a happy 'whoop' down the line. "How was school?"

"Good." Ben said, voice slightly muffled as he took a bite of something. "I was the only person in biology today." He added, chewing. "All my friends were at home, sick."

Yeah, that was another thing, the damn sickness that everyone was getting. A cross between gastric and swine flu – it swept over the country like fire and not one company had found a cure. "You sick?" Dean asked, dreading the reply, "Or mom?"

"Nah." Ben said, and Dean could hear him walking about. "Mom says we're the only folks in town who weren't puking up our guts."

"I'm pretty sure she didn't say that."

"Nearly." Ben said. "Are you ever coming back?" He must have sensed that this was the wrong thing to say, because he hurriedly followed with: "I mean to visit, not to stay."

"I'm gonna try to get back for your birthday." Dean said, "But you know, I can't promise anything."

When Ben spoke next his voice was disappointed. "Mom said you'd try. It just sucks, you know?"

"I know." Dean sighed. He'd loved Lisa and Ben, loved the house and the garden and working on his car. Hell, he'd even loved his job in construction and going bowling every other Thursday. Then Sammy had shown up, **_not dead_** – and there was no way Dean could sit back and let his brother going out and hunt on his own.

Lisa had been great. Bed had been devastated. But Dean kept his word, and called every day – no matter what. Lisa had a new guy now, although she'd not introduced him to Ben yet. Dean felt bad, because he was the reason she didn't trust Ben getting too close to this new guy – she wanted to stop him from being hurt again. "Hey, how was the game last night?"

"Cancelled." Ben grumbled. "Coach is sick."

"Damn."

"Yeah."

"Look, buddy, I gotta go, but tell your mom I called and that… I dunno, just tell her I called, okay?"

"Sure." Ben said, and Dean could already hear the TV playing his cartoons.

"Be careful, buddy. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Bye Dean."

They hung up at the same time. Ben was a great kid, he thought, as he dialed another number, and he missed him more than he missed Lisa, which was fucked up – but true.

"The number you have dialed cannot be connected. Please hang up and-" the robotic female voice on the line monotoned at him as he hit the 'end call' button and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He needed to kick that habit, calling that line. Hell, he wasn't sure what he'd do if he got an answer.

He made his way back to the motel, checked on his baby- parked far enough away from the road to keep her safe from any night-time vandals- and slipped into the room.

Sam was still reading, although he had changed his position on the bed. He looked up at Dean when he walked in, and then up at the window – frowning.

"Where have you been?" He asked, frowning.

"Just went for a walk, see what the town was like."

"And?"

"Just like everywhere else." Dean shrugged. "Deserted, quiet."

"It wasn't supposed to be like **_this_**." Sam said, looking out at the darkening sky. "We won."

"Yeah. I just can't help but wondering what it would be like if we'd **_lost_**."

* * *

**_Well, there you go, Chapter 1 of my Teen Wolf meets Supernatural story. So far, I'm loving every second of writing it, which makes a change from the total hell that I was going through with 'That Unfortunate Situation'._**

**_As you know, I'm not a weekend poster, so I hope that this here will be enough to keep you going until Monday where I'll start up my posting at a more regular pace._**

**_If you have time, please let me know what you think of this by leaving a comment – that way I know how I'm doing!_**

**_Love you guys :D_**


	2. Chapter 2

The thing was, Sam **_knew_** the books were just appearing. He knew, because Dean had started to look through all the drawers and cabinets when they booked into any new motel – and he never found a thing. But Sam... **_Sam_** opened a dresser drawer, or a wardrobe, or pulled back the shower curtain... and sure enough, there was a book. A tatty paperback with dog-eared pages and coffee cup rings on the cover and pages that would sometimes just fall out of the wrecked bindings. He had read most of them before – a hundred different schools and a hundred different English teachers with idea on what consisted of a 'real' novel to structure their classes around had widened his material. Sometimes though, like today, when he'd found a well worn copy of 'The Pearl' under his pillow, he remembered that there were so many books out there he'd never read.

Dean wasn't happy, but books? Really, if they were being haunted by the literary version of the tooth fairy, Sam wasn't going to complain. But he'd stopped mentioning the arrival of new reading material to Dean. As far as he knew, his brother thought that he was still working his way through 'The Hobbit' and didn't want to know.

He didn't mention that sometimes he'd open a drawer and there would be the lingering smell of... something. Something nice and familiar that made him smile despite the damp air in the room, or the frigid cold of the sheets.

Yeah, that and it wasn't actually possible for the half thought that formed in his head every time he picked up a gust of that scent to be real.

* * *

Dean had just gotten off the phone from a tense conversation with Ben, who had been introduced to Lisa's new boyfriend and hadn't liked him. Dean could tell as soon as he'd heard his voice that he'd been crying, and it hurt him worse than a punch to the gut. _I know you aren't in love with mom_, he'd said, _but can you just come back for me?_

He dialled the other number with shaking fingers and tried not to think about the words 'deadbeat dad' because Ben wasn't his kid, **_he wasn't_** – and Dean had no reason to feel guilty about leaving.

"Dean?" The voice on the other line was distant, crackling and so unexpected he hung up before thinking. A few quick breaths and he dialled again, fingers perfectly steady.

"The number you have dialled cannot be connected. Please hang up and try again later." The robotic female voice intoned. He hung up and looked at the screen. Maybe he'd just imagined it?

His thoughts were interrupted as Sam pulled open the passenger door and climbed inside. The seat was pushed back as far as it would go to make enough space for his huge frame, but every time he folded himself in to the space, Dean wondered if his baby just wasn't practical anymore.

"You okay, dude? You look like you just saw a ghost."

"Nah." Dean shrugged, not bothering to mention the voice on the line that he'd obviously imagined. "Just a hard call with Ben."

"How is he?" Sam didn't really get it, Dean knew. He didn't know why Dean kept calling, didn't understand that Ben was the nearest thing to a kid Dean was ever going to get and he loved him. God, he loved that kid.

"Lisa invited her new boyfriend to dinner." He said, in way of an explanation. Sam frowned, like any moment he was going to start asking Dean about his feelings and if he wanted to 'talk it out' which wasn't going to happen. "So!" He said, hands finding the steering wheel and gripping it with familiar fondness – god, his baby was so good to him – "Where to, Samsquach?"

"Take the 218, keep going left till you hit Madras." Sam said, distracted by Deans question and forgetting to talk about his feelings. "Then down the 97 till you hit Bend. Something in Shevin park is eating campers – I heard it on the local news when I was checking out."

"How far?"

"We'll be there in a couple of hours." Sam said, and Dean couldn't help but sigh.

"What the hell is going on that all these bugs keep jumping out of the woodwork?" He complained as he pulled out of the parking lot. "Two town's within spitting distance?"

"If we can figure it out today we can just move right on to the next one." Sam sighed at his side. "I'm pretty sure anywhere we go we're going to have to deal with some kind of job."

"We aint getting paid enough for this, Sam."

"We aint getting paid at all, Dean." His brother reminded him. Like Dean needed reminding, with a knife wound on his hip, a limp when it rained, and a hand-print burned into his shoulder. No amount of money would be worth it, anyway, he thought, absent-mindedly rubbing his hand over his shoulder as he drove out of the tiny town.

* * *

Stiles wasn't panicking. Well... okay, he **_was_** panicking, but he was doing it on his own, in his bedroom, where no one else could see, so he could deny it later. The power was out of the street. Probably out for more than his street – he couldn't see any lights when he looked out of his window.

His dad hadn't come home. His dad hadn't come home and there was no answer at the station – and to make matters worse, he knew the moving shapes outside were normal, human shapes. Carrying baseball bats and other assorted make-shift weaponry. He was home, alone, and – yup, the smashing of glass confirmed it – about to get his house robbed. Normally, he'd just head downstairs with his loud mouth and his brash over-confidence. He couldn't do that now, because he knew that there was more than one of them, and he'd get his ass kicked. They had weapons. Stiles was so fucked.

He used his mobile to send out a mass text to everyone. 991 HQ – dds hve wepns. Snd hlp ASAP. He hit send and waited, hand tightening around his lacrosse stick. When his bedroom door bust open, he smacked out with a mixture of panic, rage and practice. You didn't get to hang out with a pack of werewolves if you couldn't hold your own in a fight. He'd managed against an Alpha, he could manage a dude with a bat.

Turned out there were three of them, and Stiles just wasn't that good.

* * *

He wasn't sure who lifted the guy who was testing out his new boots on Stiles ribs, but he sure did like the heavy, solid sound of him being thrown across the room. He wasn't going to try to talk right now, not with the blood in his mouth and the burn in his lungs, but damn he wanted to say something. Something like 'You messed with the wrong human, bitch!' but all in all, he was just pleased that he didn't pass out.

"Stiles!" Scott called, sounding like he was in the hallway, followed by another solid smack. Suddenly the darkness didn't seem quite so oppressive. He was being helped to his feet, hands clutching at leather (so Derek was the one doing the throwing of his attacker) and blood probably getting everywhere as he gasped for breath as he tried to work his legs. He gave a splutter, trying to breathe through the pain, trying to apologise for bleeding on him.

Werewolf eyesight was better than human eyesight, so Scott didn't have any issue with getting up the stairs and into his room in no time at all. "Stiles!" He gasped, diving for him and propping him up much better than Derek was managing. "How many of them are there?"

"Three." Derek said, voice dark and rough. He must have wolfed out. "There are others next door."

"Gotta help!" Stiles tried to say, but the blood and the pain made it hard to pronounce the words right.

"I'll take Isaac and clear out the houses." Derek said in response, and Stiles felt himself slump in relief. There were good people in his street. Regular families, kids. He nodded, hoping that the Alpha understood all the things he wanted to say, but couldn't.

"Dude, I'm gonna have to take you to the hospital." Scott said, walking him carefully to the door. Each step hurt like hell, and he let out a groan. Normally they avoided hospitals, they had to – what with all of the injuries received being from supernatural goings on. This time though, it was all human, and Stiles felt all too human now. He managed a nod, worried that his tongue was working its way around his mouth and he was sure one of his teeth was moving in a way it shouldn't.

Scott helped him into his jeep, Boyd showing up suddenly, eyes flashing gold in the moonlight. "You can't take him to the hospital." He said, and he was out of breath. He lived on the other side of town. To get to Stiles, he would have passed the local hospital. "The place is in darkness. Not sure what's going on."

"My mom is working tonight!" Scott said, pulling away from Stiles and shooting panicked looks about the dark, deserted street. "Stiles is hurt, I need to see if my mom is okay."

A smash, followed by a scream, in the house across the road from them, made Boyd shrug at Scott and dive across the road. Stiles felt useless, hopeless – he knew that things were bad and he was too beat up to do a damn thing about it. Scott dove into the driver's seat and started up the Jeep, turning to Stiles as he pulled out of the narrow driveway. "What is going on, Stiles? Why is this happening?"

God, he wished he had an answer, he thought, as pain bloomed from his ribs and blood dripped out of his mouth. He wished he knew.

* * *

The hospital was running on the emergency lights, they knew before they even pulled up, because the normally bright building had only weak yellow lighting shining out of the windows. Scott half carried him from the Jeep, Stiles was trying to stop himself from poking at that tooth that just felt... wrong. God, had the actually knocked is teeth out?

The ER waiting room was bursting with people. Blood everywhere. There wasn't a seat to be had, people were actually spilling out into the corridors, the harassed woman at the desk didn't look too happy to see more people walk through her door.

"You'll have to wait." She waved to the crowds of people already there. She didn't even bother asking them for details.

"My mom works here." Scott said. "Is she okay? We heard something was going on here."

"Whose your mom?" she said, picking up the phone on her desk and hovering her hand over the dial.

"Melissa McCall." Scott supplied quickly. "She's a nurse in the ER ward."

A few moments later, they were sitting in the nurses lounge with Scott's mom carefully examining his face. Sometimes having a best friend like Scott had some great perks.

"They broke into his house." Scott was telling her as Stiles tried not to call out in pain. He was sure that Scott wasn't going to mention the tears running down his face. It wasn't his fault, he couldn't help it. "Derek got there first." Scott added. His mom was one of the only people who actually liked Derek. She thought him staying with Isaac was 'good for them both' and thought Scott could learn a lot more from the Alpha if he just listened.

"Well at least someone is looking out for you." She said, "I want you to keep as close to him as possible until I get home. Actually, ask Isaac if you can stay at his tonight." She added.

"Will Stiles not need to stay here?"

"We've not got enough room anymore." Melissa sighed. "We've got beds in corridors, and upstairs is out of the question with all the Flu cases we've got. The power cut was the last straw." She said, shaking her head. "They are going to close the hospital to new patients. If you'd gotten here in an hour, you'd be sent to St Marys."

"That's over two hours drive away!" Scott said. "What about Dalton?"

"The closed it this morning." She said, working on bandaging Stiles up. "You've got a couple of broken ribs, and you've bitten your tongue, that's where the blood is coming from." She told Stiles. "Normally we'd keep you here and do a few more tests, but I don't think that's a good idea right now."

Stiles nodded. He could see the dark shadows under her eyes and the way she looked at them both, like she wanted to just hold them tightly and not let go. He wasn't going to argue, and he didn't want to go back to his own house – not without knowing if it was safe.

"Okay, so try not to eat anything for a while, okay, take a couple of painkillers if you need them and please... **_please_** just be **_careful_**?"

Scott nodded for them both, and Stiles felt a strange hurt in his heart when Scott pulled her into a tight embrace, head tucked into her shoulder. He hated it, because he knew he was jealous – of a damn hug, for Christ sakes. He looked away and tried not to think about his own mom, and how her hugs were the best.

* * *

Bend was larger and busier than most of the towns they'd been to recently, but it had that desperate stink about it that he just couldn't place. Everyone walked down the sidewalks with blank expressions or those white hospital masks – you saw those more and more now, as people tried to stop the spread of the Flu that was now Pandemic.

It didn't make sense though, that the Flu was so damn dangerous, but the news was saying that nearly 75% of people over the age of 60 who contracted the illness had already died. Babies were the most at risk, and hospitals were now not allowing visitors into the pre and post natal areas at all. You never saw a stroller on the street.

Not only that, but acts of domestic terrorism were being reported all over the country. Gas stations and power stations were the targets of choice, although police stations and airports had been mentioned as well.

Demon activity was through the roof. They just didn't care anymore, Dean thought. They were out of the pit and throwing a party. All those black eyes fuckers who'd thought that Lucifer was some kind of bad guy bedtime story had proof that he was real – he'd walked the Earth – and they'd gone and grown a set of balls. They didn't need a stinking apocalypse to turn the world to hell; they were going to do it the old fashioned way.

Sam reckoned there was a hole somewhere, a door that had been blown open when Lucifer decided that it was high time he got himself a Winchester condom, and that where they were pouring out. Bobby had muttered something about a Hellmouth in a town called SunnyDale, but that was being taken care of by the local hunters. New Orleans was having serious issues (for a damn change, Dean snorted to himself, that place was **_never_** quiet) but some guy called Ash – not **_their_** Ash – was taking care of it. Anything in-between was up to them.

Dean had a theory about why this was happening, but he hadn't mentioned it. One, if he was wrong, he'd look like a total dick – and two: if he was right, there wasn't actually anything they could do about it.

And the Angels? Well, they'd jut bailed. This just proved to Dean that they were all Dicks. **_All_** of them. He refused to even glance at his phone as they left Bend – another monster dispatched back to wherever those things came from. He wasn't going to dial the number after his talk to Ben later. He'd fucking had it with Angels.

* * *

**_I know I don't normally post on weekends, but this story is a little like an itch between the shoulderblades and I needed to get some of it out before Monday kicks off._**

**_I'd like to thank everyone who has given me feedback (Walmart! One L!) and for leaving comments. I'm going to keep the Winchesters and the Pack separated for a while, so I hope you aren't all holding your breath for that!_**

**_They will come at this problem from two different sides, because The Pack works in quite different ways to the Winchester Brothers!_**

**_On a side note: Amanda – I hear you on the shipping front. Yes. Yes that will happen. I will explain the sickness more later ;)_**

**_I Weave Dreams – I've taken out any mention of 'Sammy' as I think you were right about that._**


	3. Chapter 3

"Look, Dean, I'm not saying that you should stop calling him, I'm just saying that you should call him less." Lisa said, voice clear over the line, as rain hammered against the windscreen.

"I made him a promise." Dean argued, pissed that he was having this conversation with Sam in the car, who was trying to look like he was anywhere but sitting within listening distance.

"Yeah, I know." She sighed. "Dean, I know. He waits every day for you to call him, right by the phone, and it breaks my heart." She paused for a long breath. "Eric is nice. He's **_really_** nice, Dean, and Ben won't even give him a chance because he's convinced that you're going to show up."

"I told him I couldn't come back." Dean argued. He'd made it pretty clear to the kid that there was no way he could let Sam go alone.

"He's ten years old, Dean!" She sighed over the line. "He worships you. He wants to be just like you – and it's killing me." He knew Lisa was right. Hell, he didn't even need to be in the same State as them to fuck up their lives.

"Okay, Lisa, okay." Dean sighed, running his hand over his face. "I'll tell him I'm on a job. Can't call for a few days."

"I'm sorry, Dean." She said, voice quiet. She was, he knew.

"I'm sorry too." He admitted, knowing that this was the last thing in that perfect life that he'd thought he could have, slipping through his fingers. "Look, tell him I'm a jerk, or something." The constant 'thwack thwack' of the wipers wasn't soothing him like it normally would.

"I won't do that." She said, ghost of a laugh in her voice. "I **_wouldn't_** do that, Dean. You're a good man." She paused. "I just need to move on. I need **_Ben_** to move on."

"Yeah. I know."

"Bye Dean."

"Yeah." He said, hanging up the phone. He was already dialling the other number before his brain even registered what he was doing. Sam was keeping his eyes firmly on the road, hands on the wheel. He knew better than to talk to Dean after a fight with Lisa. Not that it was even a fight. Not really.

"The number you have dialled can-" the female voice said, as Dean hung up and threw the phone on the dash. Damn. He was gonna have to lie to Ben, and Ben was gonna think he was a total jerk. He turned his head away from Sam, not for the first time wishing that they had a little more space between them, wishing that he'd had the conversation in the motel room, or out on the street. Anywhere that Sam **_wasn't_**. He needed a drink.

"We've got another couple of hours before we hit the next town." Sam said, voice even. "If you want to sleep or something."

Dean was about to say something, **_anything_**, when he saw it. Standing in the middle of a damn field, a beige spot on the edge of his vision. "Stop the car!" He yelled, hands flying to the handle of the door. Sam slammed on the breaks as Dean threw himself out of the car before it had even stopped. He ran, ran right into the field, ran till his legs were burning, half blind from the rain. He was soaked to the skin when he reached the figure.

The faceless scarecrow looked down at him, straw poking through the sack head, tatty old trousers stuffed and wet. Beige coat snapping in the wind.

"Dean!" Sam called, a few paces back. "Dean, are you okay?"

"Yeah." He threw over his shoulder. "Yeah, I just thought I saw this fucker move, you know? Like that other one." Was that disappointment burning in his throat, or just the desperate drag of air into his lungs?

"Wanna burn it in case?"

"Nah, nah. Damn rain, you know? Messing with my eyes." Running a hand over his face, he let out a shaky breath.

"If you're sure." Sam didn't sound too convinced, now eyeing the scarecrow with distrust, wiping his wet hair from his face where the rain had plastered it. The last scarecrow had tried to kill them both.

"Yeah," Dean nodded. He gave one last look at the sodden scarecrow before walking back in the direction of the car. "Just been seeing so many monsters lately." He shrugged. "Starting to see them all over."

Sam nodded, throwing another untrusting look at the stuffed man before following him.

They were back in the car before Dean looked back at the field. With the streaming water on the window, messing with his view… yeah… it was possible to think he could have seen the 20 foot wingspan. Damn rain.

* * *

Isaac's house was in complete darkness, aside from the living room where they were seated, which had candles and a camping lamp on the table. Stiles had Scott call his dad, leaving a message that didn't mention anything about the attack. He still hadn't heard anything back. The landlines were down, he knew his dad would get the message though. Perks of being a sheriff.

The rest of the pack were eating the ice-cream that would have melted in the freezer without power to keep it cold, and Stiles was watching them with undisguised lust. God, he couldn't remember the last time he was so hungry.

"We cleared out the guys from your street," Boyd was saying in his steady voice. "No one else was hurt, although a few of the guys might be limping tomorrow." He added, as an afterthought.

"What's going on?" Scott asked, looking about the room. "This isn't normal, I don't care what **_anyone_** says. I know some of those guys! We play **_lacrosse_** with Harvey!"

Stiles blinked. Harvey? Had Harvey been one of the guys who had beaten him up? He wanted to talk, but the gauze in his mouth stopped him from making anything other than a frustrated huff.

"I don't think I'm going to be able to get used to Stiles not being able to talk." Isaac admitted around a massive spoonful of icecream. "It's weird."

"Yeah." Scott nodded, obviously not aware that his best friend was about to knife him in the heart for the tub in his hands. He threw them both a scathing look, and they gave him sympathetic smiles. Poor, fragile Stiles, with his human bones and human injuries.

His eyes were heavy, and he could feel himself drifting off – his mobile phone showing that the time was nearing 2am. The wolves around him were perfectly able to stay awake for days, but Stiles was exhausted. Exhausted and in pain, and sleep just felt like the right thing to do.

He heard them talking over him, talking about going out again and making sure that no one was stuck at home, injured from the attacks, heard Scott offering to stay to keep an eye on him, before sleep swamped his body and he closed his eyes.

* * *

When Stiles opened his eyes, the room was light, and he was stretched out on the sofa. Every bone and muscle in his body hurt – he'd have to ask Scott if he'd be able to siphon of some of the pain. Having a best friend who was also a werewolf had some serious perks. He blinked a few times before pulling out the gauze that was still in his mouth. It was wet with spit and brown blood, and his breath smelt like someone had made him eat stink bait, but there was no blood filling his mouth – so he'd class that as a win.

Around him, candles were unlit, wax melted so they looked like props from a Hammer Horror movie set – and the camping light had been switched off. There was no one else in the room, he couldn't hear anyone moving about either. A quick check of his phone showed that his dad hadn't called in the night, which worried him. Quickly pressing his name, he waited for the familiar sound of his dads voice, only to be told that his number could not be connected.

Stiles pushed up onto his feet and stood for a long moment, swaying back and forth like a sapling in the wind – pain shooting all over his body and through his lungs. He gave a muffled start, trying not to breathe because that made the pain worse.

Suddenly, there was a warm hand on the back of his neck, and slowly – very slowly – the pain seeped away. The ache in his mouth still lingered, but he was able to draw in a deep breath without doubling, so he wasn't about to complain.

"Thanks!" He grinned. "Remind me to make out with you late-" His voice faltered as he turned, expecting to see Scott, and come face to face with Derek Hale. It took a few more moments for his brain to catch up with his mouth. "I mean… uh… thanks! I thought you were Scott. Not that I make out with **_Scott_** either, it's just like this running joke because he's-"

"Okay." Derek shrugged. "You just looked like you were about to pass out."

Stiles thought he was going to pass out now, for sure – because that was Derek Hale and Stiles still hadn't **_quite_** gotten over the fear induced boners that the guy had given him through the year and a half that they'd known each other. There was only so many times you could get slammed up against a wall with a growl before your body started to think it was enjoying it. Not that he enjoyed it!

"Yeah, sure, okay." Stiles rushed. "Thanks." He paused. "For the help, I mean."

"Oh, his mouth is working again." Peter's voice drifted through the room. "Pity."

"Don't start." Derek growled – aimed, Stiles was sure - at Peter and not at him. He hoped.

"I thought you might want to know, the people from the attacks last night have disappeared."

"What did you do to them?" Stiles snapped, eyes fixed on Peter, who was leaning against the frame of the door.

"Me?" He held a hand to his chest and managed to look urbane and only slightly offended. "**_I_** didn't do anything." He shot a look to Derek. "It was my nephew who was out last night, going through the houses."

Stiles felt a drop in his stomach as he shot Derek a look that he hoped clearly conveyed the right amount of '_please tell me it's not true_' and '_holy shit did you eat them?_' and got a flat glare for his efforts.

"The houses were empty." He said, more to Peter than Stiles, "The gangs had moved on by the time we got there."

"Well, I trailed them as far as the hole in the ground where the gas station used to be, and then I lost them." Peter shrugged. "About 50 or so, just 'poofed' with no scent to follow."

"That doesn't make sense." Stiles replied. "People don't just vanish into nowhere."

"Well, I can only tell you what I found." Peter shrugged, looking bored by the whole conversation.

* * *

"About 100 people just vanished?" Dean repeated, leaning over the desk and frowning. The deputy on the other side nodded, not quite sure what to do with two FBI officers standing over his workstation. He swallowed deeply.

"We reported it, of course!" He stammered, pale and shaken. "And it was all over the local news, but folks have been leaving for a while, you know, because of the violence." He looked down at his notes. "And with the 'flu going around…" His voice trailed off.

Dean shot Sam a look that said more than they needed to know. It wasn't the first time they'd found a town with a serious problem and not enough man power to mount a search. By the looks of it, Officer Bradley was the only one on duty.

"We called the state troopers!" The nervous deputy added. "But they wouldn't send anyone, not with the riots in Portland." He looked down at his shaking hands. "So they sent you?"

"We are working with the State Department." Sam said, putting his hands on his hips and standing up to his full height. Dean guessed he looked pretty impressive to the short stack behind the desk, because he stammered and nodded. "We'll need all your files for the missing people as well as a map of the surrounding area – any suspicious deaths and any CCTV footage you have." Sam rattled off the list. "We'll also need to talk to the sheriff."

"Oh, you can't." Deputy Bradley said, shaking his head. "He's got the 'flu. They closed the hospital a week ago – no one gets in or out – CDC rules. With the power out and the phonelines dead, you can't even talk to em."

Damn. It was getting easier to roll into town with a fake badge and a commanding attitude than you could believe – no one checked, no one wanted to look a gift horse in the mouth. But the damn sickness was making it impossible to get near people to actually dig up any dirt. There wasn't a hospital within 50 miles that wasn't closed, no admittance to anyone while the flu continued to drop folks like flies. Only CDC paperwork would get them through, and the fake ID's they carried didn't include those.

"No matter, we'll just take a look at the information you have." Sam conceded.

Dean was expecting mountains of paperwork, he could just see it in his mind's eye, so when – after he'd brought the car around to the front of the building only to see Sam standing there with a single box in his arms, he looked around.

"Where is the rest?"

"This is it." Sam grumbled, folding his tall frame into the car. "This is all they have on a **_hundred_** people." He grimaced as Dean pulled away, flipping through the files. "Most of it is just missing persons reports. Nothing else."

* * *

Paperwork was Sam's **_thing_**, Dean knew. He just loved looking through files and using his nerd skills on the laptop to get Dean the stuff he could actually use, but Dean could see that there just wasn't enough information to go on.

Sam leaned back and gave a groan. "It looks like everyone was living a normal life, then… bang. Fights, crashes, fires… you name it, this place saw it."

"Just like everywhere else." Dean groaned, throwing his arm over his eyes as he lay on the bed. "What the hell, Sam – we have no idea what we're doing here. 100 people? That's not our kind of job – that's a job for the actual FBI." He **_really_** needed a drink.

His brother nodded, looking forlornly at the pile of files that made up all the information they had on a hundred souls. Dean knew that look, that hopeless puppy dig in the rain look that he pulled when his gigantic, oversized heart was breaking. Dean just wasn't built to care like that. He liked simple things – simple women, simple drinks, simple jobs. Salt and burns, the occasional silver blade… you know – simple stuff.

The phone in his jacket pocket started to ring, and Dean levered himself off the bed. This whole 8 hours of sleep thing was making him lazy. He didn't recognise the number that was calling, but that didn't mean a damn thing.

"Dean." The voice on the other line crackled before he could even say 'Hey'. There was so much interference that it actually hurt to put the phone too close to his ear. "Dea-" the line went dead, and he stood, rocking on the balls of his feet as he redialled the number that called instantly, hands tight and controlled.

"Pick up, pick up…" He repeated as the line rang. Sam was watching him carefully, trying not to look concerned. They'd had more than one sharp, angry conversation about Dean and his habit of calling a line he knew he wasn't going to get an answer from.

There was a click on the line, and before he could even get the name out, a robotic voice broke in. "I'm sorry, the number you have dialled has not been recognised. Please redial and try again." Before cutting off.

"You okay?" Sam asked, voice bland and neutral.

"Yeah." Dean shrugged, with a calmness he wasn't feeling. "Hungry?"

"I could eat." His brother nodded.

* * *

"Stiles!" His dad's voice cut through the background chatter that Stiles was managing ignore. He was on his laptop, hooked up to the massive generator that Derek and Peter had 'liberated' from somewhere and set up in the basement, head down and completely focused on his work.

"Dad?" He called up, getting to his feet instantly. He was pretty impressed – normally when Scott stole a little of his pain it would come back after an hour or two, but Derek had managed to stave it off for almost 10. Perks indeed, of hanging about the slightly terrifying Alpha.

Knowing his dad, he was about to be pulled into the world's most painful bear hug, but the older man just stopped at the foot of the stairs and looked at him, eyes wide.

"Jesus, Stiles," He breathed. "What happened?"

"Some guys broke in." He shrugged. "It looks worse than it is, honest. It doesn't hurt at all. Scott's mom patched me up and sent me here." He saw his dad's shoulders slump. "Look, I know you don't like Derek much, Dad, but he got those guys off me and-"

"Stiles, I don't like Derek because I **_know_** he lies to me, right to my face." He sighed. "But I also trust Melissa, and if she thinks that this is the safest place for you to be… then this is where you should be." He sounded exhausted, worn out and rung dry.

"Look, dad, maybe you should go upstairs and get some sleep." Stiles suggested. The rumpled clothes, the half beard from lack of shaving… everything added up to a serious case of sleep deprivation.

"I can't." Was the reply, and Stiles decided that just wasn't good enough.

"Look, dad, we need you on top form. Your running on no sleep, less food and I bought you've been even taking your medication, so can you just please, this once – do what I tell you and go to sleep?"

* * *

"I'm telling you, he had black eyes." Scott was ranting, waving his hands about his head and pacing the room.

"Like someone punched him?"

"No, like some freaky contact lenses or something!" Scott turned to Isaac and pointed. "Tell them!"

"He's right. It was Harvey, but… he didn't smell right, and when he saw us… he just laughed, like… I dunno… like he found us funny or something."

"And he had black eyes."

"Yeah, they were black. Like inky or something."

"Maybe the flu is making people's eyes messed up." Boyd suggested. "Bleeding or whatever, like in zombie movies."

Stiles was listening with half an ear. He was typing fast, fingers flying over the laptop keys, mind trying to absorb all the information he could, trying to find a line that would make sense. 'Black eyes' he added to his search and results started popping up. He clicked the link.

"We are the ghost facers!" The autoplay video announced, too loud in the room. Everyone looked at him. "We face the things that go bump in the night!" One guy said. "Yeah," The other nodded. "Like ghosts and stuff."

"Turn that off." Derek snapped, and Stiles shrugged, putting the volume down and listening with half an ear to the conversation while reading through all the information on the site.

After a few moments, he knew he'd hit gold.

"Did you see any black smoke?" He asked, and saw Isaac's face light up.

"Yeah! We saw Harvey like… blow out some smoke from his mouth before he passed out." He supplied.

"I didn't see that." Scott admitted.

"Listen to this." Stiles said, hitting the link.

"If there is one thing those Douchbag Winchesters, Dean and Sam, showed us, it was how to deal with Demons."

Lydia, who had been sitting quietly beside Peter during Isaac and Scott's mini panic, suddenly snorted. "Stiles, I hate to break it to you, but those guys are fakes."

"You don't know that!"

"**_Ghostfacers_**? Puh-leah-se." She said, dragging out the word for longer than was necessary. Peter, who always took her side in an argument (still didn't make up for nearly killing her though, Stiles thought bitterly) nodded and rolled his eyes.

"Whatever." Stiles shrugged, going back to the laptop. "It's the only think I can find that even comes close to this mess."

* * *

**_Happy Monday!_**

**_Have some not quite Sterek and some almost Cas and be happy that today is almost over! I had a super bad day at work, so I'm hoping that if you did too – this might make you smile. Maybe. I'm glad that people are enjoying it, and I do love and use the feed back that you give me!_**

**_But its still Monday and it's been a fucking terrible one, so I'm going to go and read other Sabriel fanfic and pretend that I don't have to go back to work tomorrow!_**

**_Love you lots!_**


	4. Chapter 4

Sam rolled over onto his side and tried to sleep through the protest of bedsprings. His hand fisted under the covers and came into contact with something that wasn't there when he fell asleep. Opening his eyes, he looked over at Deans bed – his brother wasn't there, instead the light from the small bathroom shone through the cracks in the door. Sure enough, a quick glance at his phone showed it was just after 4am, his brother was never able to sleep through the night.

Remembering what actually woke him, he pushed his hand under the thin worn-out pillow and pulled out what his hand had hit. He blinked once, then again, and let his eyes adjust to the poor light. He'd gone to bed and – as automatically as Dean's obsessive dialling, had already checked under the pillow for anything that shouldn't be there. The map wasn't there when he fell asleep, he knew it.

Leaning over and turning on the lamp the was between the two beds, he studied it closely, carefully folding it out. It wasn't as detailed as the maps they kept in the car – the cover clearly said it was a roadmap, but there weren't any roads showing on the soft paper. Then he noticed the burn marks.

When Dean walked back through the bathroom door, smelling like toothpaste and soap – Sam had the map spread out over the bed and he was typing franticly on his laptop.

"Too early." Was all his brother said, as he flopped back down onto the bed, springs making an alarming screech of protest.

"Dean, you need to see this!" Sam said, grabbing the laptop and waving it at his brother, who looked like he was about to fall back to sleep. "Dean!"

"Let me sleep, Sammy." He muttered, turning away from the light.

"I figured it out."

"Hm-uh?" His brother mumbled into the pillow, back still turned to him.

"I know where the holes are."

"Holes?" Dean sighed, still not moving.

"So, you know how Bobby said that there was hotspots for activity, these… holes… that monsters and demons are spewing out of – New Orleans, Sunnydale?"

"Hmmm."

"There's one here."

* * *

Stiles read, and then he read some more. His eyes were stinging from overuse and the harsh light of the laptop he was working from. He knew that everyone was brushing off his demon theory, but they'd brushed off his Djin theory and it turned out he was **_right_**, so he let them laugh it off.

He emailed a few people and got some interesting 'academic' information about demons in popular culture, and a few more links to take a look at. He'd found 'anti possession' diagrams – he wasn't sure if they would work, but he'd drawn one on his arm with a sharpie just in case – and learned all about how salt (really? Salt?) and holy water (not just for vampires!) were his friends.

Of course, everyone was just brushing his ideas off, Lydia had been the most supportive so far but that was only because she liked the Latin exorcism spell, but even she'd lost interest.

School was closed – with the teachers either missing or sick, and so many parents taking their kids away for the violence, when Monday rolled around, the doors remained locked. Stiles wasn't sure if this was the greatest thing over all time, or the sign that the world was ending.

So he went to the store on Monday afternoon and found the place totally trashed. Luckily, he was there for one thing – Salt –which had been forgotten in the rush for the booze and candy. He took it all, filling his car with huge packs of rock salt, table salt and bottles of water.

Derek gave him a look that clearly said the Alpha thought he'd lost his mind, but he helped carry the bags into the house.

"Look, if I'm wrong, then it doesn't matter, right?" He argued when Derek actually rolled his eyes at him. "And if I'm right, I just saved the day… so… yeah. I'm totally right. I **_know_** it. Do you think that we could get a Priest to bless the water? I mean… we could get him to bless the water tanks, and then if the demons get close, we could hose them down. That could work. I think that would work." He said grabbing another sack from the back of the Jeep.

"I think he'd just tell you to go away." Derek said, holding the door open so it didn't smack him in the face.

"Thanks." Stiles grinned.

"You're welcome." Derek responded, and nope, Stiles definatly did go all weak at the knees at the little half smile he got from the Alpha. Nope. He didn't.

The house wasn't the only one with power – a few people had hooked up their own generators, but not enough to actually keep the town running. The houses with power were quickly becoming meeting places for those without, people showing up asking if they could charge their mobile phones or laptops – and Stiles was pretty sure each morning there was a prayer circle somewhere that the wifi networks were still up.

So it wasn't unusual to see people milling about in Isaacs living room, people you didn't recognise or had never even seen before. It was though, unusual to see someone standing in the middle of the room, rocking back and forth.

"Are you okay?" Derek asked the man, who was standing over the rug that Stiles had… His mind snapped, understanding coming like a lightning bolt directly to his brain, and he grabbed Derek by the arm.

"Dude!" He said, trying to pull the Alpha backwards. It would have been impossible for Stiles to move him if Derek wasn't willing, so he was pretty surprised when Derek let himself be pulled into the hallway. "Listen to me, okay?" Stiles urged, "I'm not crazy. I'm not." When Derek didn't say anything, just carried on looking at him expectantly, Stiles felt a rush of something that wasn't quite power and wasn't quite relief. "I drew makings on the floor." He explained. "I drew this thing called a Devils trap – I saw it online, and I thought it wouldn't hurt." He nodded his head towards the living room. "It's under the rug! The guy in there is standing inside it."

"And?"

"And?" Still half yelled. "And! And he can't leave it!" He hissed. "He's trapped. In the **_Devils_** **_trap_**!"

"You think this guy is the devil?" Derek said, slowly – like he was talking to an idiot.

"Yes!" He paused for a moment. "Well... no. I think he's a demon. I don't think the Devil is in Isaac's living room." He looked over Derek's shoulder and paled. "Oh my God, what if it's the **_devil_**? What id I've went and trapped the devil? How **_pissed_** is he going to be?"

Derek glared at him before taking a step back. "Shut up, Stiles." He snapped. "There's one way to find out." He turned his back to Stiles and walked right back into the living room, where the guy was still rocking back and forth. "Hey," Derek said, talking directly to him. "You're standing in a Devil Trap."

Stiles wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it sure as hell – _oh my god, did this mean that hell was an actual place?_ – wasn't for the guy to turn slowly to face them both, and **_smile_**.

"You've made a serious mistake." He grinned, and Stiles watched as his eyes turned from a regular human blue to completely black. He gripped at Derek's arm, panic setting in. "My Lord will hear about this."

"Yeah?" Derek said, but Stiles knew that cocky tone. Derek had no idea what he was doing.

"My Lord walked the earth." The black eyed man said, looking around the room. "Do you think we fear a little trap like this?" He stepped forward, but didn't seem to be able to cross the line. He glared. "I'm going to rip you apart slowly for this, you little maggot."

Stiles didn't think. The words, that he'd gone over with Lydia a few times before she'd gotten bored, rolled off his tongue like he'd done it before.

"_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii_," He said, trying to keep his voice even as the man in the living room screamed like someone was ripping off his arms (Stiles didn't like to think how he **_knew_** what that sounded like).

Suddenly the room was full of people. The pack, and his dad – yelling and not really sure what was going on. He carried on speaking in Latin, Lydia looking at him like he'd lost his mind.

"Keep away from him!" Derek roared, and the wolves stopped mid-run, arms reaching out for the man who carried on screaming. His black eyes started to recede, and then, as Stiles finished talking with a stammering "_Te rogamus, audi nos_," the man's head shot back like he'd been shot, mouth open in a painful scream that no one could hear – and a plume of black smoke billowed out of his mouth before he collapsed on the floor like a puppet whose strings had just been cut.

"What the **_hell_** was that?" His dad asked, as the entire room turned to face him – expressions ranging from thoughtful (Lydia) to horrified (Scott).

"Oh, I'm pretty sure we're all screwed."

* * *

"I'm pretty sure you're screwed." Bobby's voice said over the line. "A hell hole? You'd need somethin' more n' what you've got." He paused. "How'd you pair of knuckleheads work this out anyways?"

Dean glanced over at his brother and frowned. "We had help."

"Well, you need to work out if this person is tryin' to kill ya, or tryin' to help ya, cause it ain't lookin' like the latter."

"What would we need to close this thing?"

"Well, I know the last one was closed by a hunter throwing herself into the pit – don't do that!" He added quickly. "Don't even try, she was somethin' special and you aint."

"Thanks Bobby."

"Ya need something 'Pure of Light' says here. S'why she threw herself in the pit – she was pure."

"Well that rules me an Sam out." Dean quipped, but he couldn't help the frown. "What the hell is pure and light? Can't see us finding a bunch of virgins willing to jump into **_hell_**."

"I'm lookin' aint I?" Bobby snapped. "I swear you boys think I pull answers outa my **_butt_**." Dean was left listening to the flat tone that signalled Bobby had hung up. He looked over at Sam and shrugged as he dialled that number again, mind working on autopilot.

"He's pretty sure we're screwed." He said, lifting the phone to his ear.

Sam looked like he was about to say something, but shrugged and went back to pouring over his precious map. Dean didn't want to know where it came from, he decided. Well… okay – he really **_did_** want to know where it came from, but he wasn't about to start asking, because his brother started getting shifty an-

"Dean?" The voice on the other line came through after a click.

"Cas?" Dean half choked, almost dropping the phone in shock. "Cas!"

"Where are you?"

"102, Redrest Motel in Bend, Ore-"

"I'm here." The voice behind him said – echoing in his ear as well. "I'm going to hang up."

"Castiel!" Sam yelled, scrambling to his feet and diving past Dean, who was still not able to turn around and look at the angel. He was sure though, that Sam had decided to be a girl and throw his arms around him, because after a few awkward moments he heard a "Sorry," followed by the sound of him patting Cas on the shoulder. "You're here!"

"Yes." Cas replied, voice just like Dean remembered, too rough and too gravely for his tiny frame. Dean turned to face the Angel of the Lord that pulled him out of hell and shrugged with a calmness he wasn't feeling.

"About time." He said. "We've got a hellhole to close."

"Yes." Cas nodded. "I know."

"Awesome. Spill."

Cas looked confused at his words, and Dean had to remind himself that he was talking to **_Cas_** and not a real person. "Tell us the information you know about these holes and how to close them." He added, keeping his words flat and only a touch sarcastic.

"They were formed when Lucifer walked the earth." Cas replied. "They can be closed with something Pure of Light."

"We're all out of virgins." Dean remarked, to which Cas just nodded. Like it would be okay to throw a couple of virgins into hell.

"That is one way. They can also be closed with Grace."

"Which is pure of light!" Sam announced, thrilled to be able to put two and two together. Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Yeah, he knew what Grace was.

"Yes," Cas nodded. "I have been trying to close the ones I have found, but it is… difficult."

"Why?" Dean asked. "I thought you got your promotion – all your Grace stuffed back in you?"

"Not all of it." Cas responded, giving Dean a tilt of the head. He'd forgotten how annoying he found that damn head tilt. He'd forgotten a lot of things about Cas that he found annoying. Like his complete lack of communication. **_For a year._**

"Yeah, well, there is one here, so go throw some Angel mojo on it and fix this place." He snapped.

"There is a hellhole here?" Cas sounded confused. "How do you know?"

"We got this m-"

"Research!" Sam cut over his answer hurriedly. "We did some research, and people are going missing wherever one of these holes are." Oh, so Sammy didn't want the Angel to know that they were getting some help, huh? Dean frowned. So much for thinking that the books were coming from a good guy for a change, Sam obviously through it needed hiding from the Angel.

"I see." Castiel nodded. Dean wasn't sure if he understood the limitations of 'research' but he seemed willing to take Sam's answer at face value.

"So…" Dean prompted. "Go fix it."

"I cannot."

"Why? You just finished saying that-"

"They are protected by wards." Cas responded tightly. "I cannot just walk in and," he lifted his hands to make little air quotes, "**_fix it_**."

"Great." Dean sighed, walking over to the bed and picking up his bag. "Just great."

"What's going on, Castiel?" Sam asked, voice still touched with that shade of awe that Dean always found slightly amusing. "I thought we stopped the apocalypse?"

"You did." Cas replied, standing perfectly still as Dean brushed past him to grab the clothes that were on the back of the tatty couch. "But the Horsemen still walked the earth."

"Meaning?" Dean asked, folding the clothes and putting them into his duffle.

"Famine filled people with a deep need, War with rage – and Pestilence touched many with sickness. These effects last for much longer than the original marks."

"So even though we ganked the dude, Pestilence is still making people sick?"

"Humans have no immunity to the illness he spread." Cas supplied, not very helpfully. "Although his goal was to infect the population with the Croatoan Virus, the initial sickness was virulent enough to kill on its own." Cas looked at Dean thoughtfully. "This is not the first illness that reduced the population of the globe."

"This is going to be the influenza of 1918." Sam said, and Dean knew from the tone of his voice that this was something he should probably know about.

"Possibly." Cas said, watching Dean as he folded the clothes. "Made worse by the rage and desperation caused by the Horsemen."

Sam, who'd known Dean for longer than Cas and probably knew his lack of input was because he had no idea what they were talking about.

"It's like an earthquake, and the Horsemen were in the middle, okay? We dealt with them, stuffed Lucifer back into his cage and stopped the big bang."

Dean nodded at the explanation. "Yeah, okay."

"But after really **_big_** earthquake there are these little tremors, aftershocks – and they can kill just as many people because they aren't expecting them."

"So this sickness is Pestilence? And the riots, that's War – even though they are gone?"

"Demons are taking advantage of this chaos also." Cas added, voice grave. "Lucifer walked the earth and they have become even more bold in the knowledge that he is real."

"Not helped by the fact that God has upped sticks and left?"

"It has not helped." Cas replied, for the first time taking his eyes off Dean to look at the floor.

"Well, we've got a hole that needs plugging and an Angel who can fix it, so.." He hauled his duffle onto his shoulder and looked at them both. "Let's get this show on the road."

"We are not a show, Dean."

Yeah, okay, maybe he'd missed that a little.

* * *

"Demons?" His dad repeated for the 4th time. "Demons like… the Devil?"

"Well… I don't know." Stiles admitted. "I don't know anything about demons. There isn't anything in the Bestiary."

"The what?"

"Nothing." Stiles waved a hand, still scrolling through the webpage he'd brought up.

"Isaac, go cover the doors, windows and anything else that something could climb through with a barrier of salt. It's stacked up in the hall where we left it." He commanded, "Lydia, put on of these," He handed her a print off of the devils trap he'd copied onto the living room floor, "Behind the doors and windows as well." He paused. "We need a priest."

"Why?" His dad sounded totally baffled.

"We need to make some holy water."

"Of course." His dad said, throwing his hands into the air. "Why didn't I think of that?" There was no mistaking his exasperated tone, or his sarcasm.

Isaac and Lydia though, almost immediately left the kitchen, Peter following Lydia like an ever-present, freaky murdering shadow.

This was Stiles **_thing_**. He was good at this, good at the planning and the working stuff out – and the pack knew it. Stiles had the plans, Derek had the brawn – it was the reason they'd managed to keep their town free of monsters – and it was weird how they had been coming out of the woodwork recently.

The sound of raised voices from the hallway got their attention – Isaac was arguing, and suddenly, Derek didn't look at all relaxed.

"Argents." He growled, and Stiles saw Boyd's face harden. Damn. They didn't need to add to their troubles.

"It's Alison." Scott added, getting up from his seat and making his way through to the hallway. This was what Stiles didn't want, the damn Argents showing up with their arrows and their tendency to lock people in the basement and kick the shit out of them. They **_certainly_** didn't need a family who made their living out of torturing werewolves hanging around a pack of werewolves.

"You need our help." Chris Argent was telling Peter, who was giving the man a bitchface to rival all bitchfaces, which Stiles refused to like him for.

"You aren't welcome here." Derek snapped, and Stiles shot a quick look to his dad who just looked really, really confused. He knew about Kate, and how she'd been the one to set the fire at the Hale house, but he didn't know why Boyd looked ready to start swinging punches.

"You need our help." Chris repeated. "We know you've been patrolling the streets at night, to keep people safe – we can help you."

"Sure." Stiles nodded, voice loaded with sarcasm. "Where do we sign?"

"This has nothing to do with you." Chris said to him, and Stiles temper just snapped.

"Like hell it's not!" He yelled. "This is my pack and if you think for one moment I'm going to forget what he did you've got another thing coming!" He felt Derek put a steadying hand on his shoulder as he stepped forward, rage flowing off him like heat. "Get out of this house."

"I thought Derek was the Alpha." Chris commented, and Stiles felt his face turn cherry red.

"I thought hunters didn't hurt kids?"

"What my father did was inexcusable." Chris said, face a mask of honesty. "We had no idea that-"

"Yes you did." Boyd said, standing beside the door frame. "You knew." He nodded to Alison, who was trying to keep as much behind her father as she could. "**_She_** knew."

"Could someone please tell me what the hell is going on?" Stiles heard his dad say, voice hard and authorative.

"My father," Chris said, tone flat. "Was manipulative. He believed that Derek and his pack were a danger to the population of Beacon Hills." He paused. "We know now that the werewolves have been keeping the town safe from other supernatural beings and we are here to offer our help. We can help you."

"Oh." He heard his dad say, followed by a: "Right. Werewolves."

Fuck.

"We are not working with them." Boyd snapped.

"Don't be an idiot." Lydia suddenly piped up. "We need all the help we can get."

"Lydia is correct." Peter said, backing her up as usual – which Stiles really didn't appreciate in this instance, because normally Lydia agreed with what Stiles wanted.

"We can work something out so that we don't need to spend any time together." Chris said. "I'm willing to overlook the fact that Derek killed my wife if you can overlook the fact that my father… did some terrible things."

"I didn't kill your wife." Derek snapped. "I was trying to stop her from killing Scott."

Stiles felt someone grab his arm and pull him away from the argument in the hallway and back into the kitchen. He looked up at his dad who looked equal parts worried and furious.

"Werewolves?" He spluttered. "Supernatural fights? What the hell is going on, Stiles?"

"Look…" Stiles said, looking over his shoulder to the escalating argument in the hall. "I wanted to tell you, I did, but I wanted to keep you safe from all this – it was bad enough that you nearly lost your job because of me! I couldn't let you tak-"

"You couldn't let me?" His dad yelled. "**_Let me?_** I think you need to remember who is the adult in this situation!"

"What could you do? Scott got bitten, he turned into a freaking werewolf! Then we had Peter going about killing people-"

"I don't do that anymore." Peter called through.

"_Peter killing people_," Stiles repeated, voice hard. "Then we had Jackson and Mathew and… then the Alphas and the Djin and… I just didn't want you to have to deal with that." He finished, voice dropping quietly. "I just wanted to keep you safe."

"Stiles, it's not to your job to keep people safe."

"Yes it is." He said urgently. "It **_is_**. It's my job to make sure that we've got a plan – that we've got a **_clue_**, some idea before Derek goes bursting through the door or Scott thinks it's a good idea not to tell anyone what he's doing. I need to keep it together so **_someone_** notices if Boyd goes missing because the fucking Argents have got him strung up in the basement or if Lydia goes on another space walk in her head." He took a breath. "It's my **_job_**. It's my job and I'm **_good_** at it."

The silence through the house was almost deafening when he finished talking. He hadn't noticed that the pack – and the Argents – were standing at the door looking at him with quite different expressions. His dad looked sad, _proud_, but sad, when he clasped him on the shoulder.

"I know you aren't a kid, Stiles, but you don't have to do this by yourself. I wish you would have told me."

"He's right though." Lydia nodded, pushing her way through the door and standing beside Stiles, strawberry blond curls bouncing. "Stiles does the planning – with me, of course – and right now what we need is a plan." She twirled around and glared at the people crowding the doorway. "Grab a chair, sit down and get over yourselves." She gave Stiles a pitying look as people actually did what she told them. "You'd think they'd be able overlook a little thing like attempted murder." She flicked her hair. "I did."

* * *

"The sigils are in enochian." Cas said, head nodding at the normal looking house. "They are placed over the doors and windows."

"How many do you need us to break."

"As many as you can." Cas said, giving Dean that flat stare that he really hadn't missed. He **_hadn't_**. "As soon as enough are destroyed you will know."

"Gonna start smiting?"

"Yes." He nodded.

"Do you know how many demons are in there?" Sam asked, giving the house a dark look.

"No."

"Alright then, lets go gank us some goons." Dean grinned at his brother.

"They are demons."

"Yeah, Cas, I know."

They crawled through the back yard, hidden from the lights that shone out of the windows. If Dean didn't know better, he'd think the Angel got it wrong, this place didn't look anything like a hole into hell – or more importantly – a hole out of hell. He saw a ward, painted in red (God, he hoped that was paint) on the side the house and used his knife to break the line. Another scraping sound from his left told him that Sam was doing the same.

The door was guarded by two regular looking guys in jeans and t-shirts, and they didn't see Sam until it was too late, sinking the knife Ruby gave them into their backs. A few seconds later, ward covering the door broken, Dean kicked it open, and started firing salt rounds at anything that moved or looked like it was gonna move, as Sam cleaned up behind him with the knife. All around them, black smoke swirled and pushed, and Dean picked up a smell he'd prayed he'd never had the misfortune to smell again.

"What the hell is that smell?" Sam gagged, pulling his knife out of another possessed soul.

"Hell." Dean yelled back. A mixture of burning meat and plastic, it was everywhere. He found himself thrown against a wall, blood red marking behind him, and used his ring to break the line. Nothing happened as the demon, eyes black and face contorted into a vicious grin, punched him in the ribs so hard he thought he was gonna throw up his lungs.

"My father walked this earth!" The black eyed bastard hissed in his ear as he gasped for breath. "When I return to hell he will **_reward_** me!" It laughed.

"Yeah?" Sam said, smashing a window with another warding mark on it. "Tell him Sam Winchester said 'Hi' for me."

Pure white light filled Deans vision, and Castiel walked through the door, skin glowing so brightly Dean had to turn his head.

"Close your eyes."

Even with his eyes tightly shut, and his hands thrown over them for good measure, Dean actually **_felt_** the light of Castiel's grace around him. His shoulder burned, he just knew the handprint there would be blistered when he took his shirt off later – but the feeling of pure, clean **_love_** that washed over his skin was enough to let him forget that. He felt like his soul was singing, as wave upon wave of Angelic fury washed over his body – **_through_** his body.

He could hear Sam gasp and then suddenly, it was over.

"We must leave this place." Castiel informed them, in the same gravely tone that he always used. He didn't even sound out of breath. "The light would have been seen for many miles."

"Is it okay to look?" Dean asked, still not opening his eyes. He felt Cas clasp his shoulder and pull him to his feet.

"Yes Dean."

He opened his eyes and saw… nothing. The lights were still working, the walls held no red markings, no bodies littered the path that they had cut through. "That was awesome Cas." He said, grabbing his shoulder and giving him a slight shake – the closest thing Dean was gonna get to an actual full out man hug.

He was pretty sure that the look Castiel gave him was slightly smug.

* * *

**_I need to clarify a few things:_**

**_This is a kind of post season 5, not quite season 6 world of Supernatural. I have explained why the world is going to hell through the story, but for those people who are on like…. Season 100 of Supernatural you'll have to cast your mind back a bit for this to make sense!_**

**_I hope I don't break your brains._**

**_For the Teen Wolf folks – Jackson is gone (boo!) and I've found out that Erica s also not going to be in season 3, so that's why I'm only mentioning her in passing. That might change because (as you probably know from my previous stuff) I don't have a plot or an outline so things can change chapter to chapter. _**

**_Anyway, I hope you like this chapter and… well I just hope you like it!_**


	5. Chapter 5

Although Stiles loved his Jeep, he had to admit that Derek's black Camero that really made you feel like you were travelling in **_style_**.

That morning had been… horrible. Chris and Alison Argent sat at the table (Scott hovering protectively over Alison's shoulder as though to protect her from the flat, angry glare of Boyd) and they worked out a rota, of sorts. Chris and his hunter brothers – or whatever they wanted to call themselves – would take one side of town and the pack the other.

Stiles sat in the black Camero and glared at the passing streets as Derek drove to the nearest gas station for miles.

"I don't get why they didn't just leave along with everyone else." He burst out suddenly. "Now they want to swoop in and save the day."

Derek, who was focusing on the road because you never actually knew what was going to burst out onto the street anymore, didn't say anything. Stiles was used to that.

"Do they really think that we're just going to forget what they did? I mean – torturing Erica and Boyd, trying to kill Scott, burning Peter alive… not to mention what Kate did."

The driver didn't so much as blink, but really, Stiles had gotten used to that. There had been a few times where Stiles had been stuck with a wrecked Jeep and no way of getting home – it was always Derek who drove out to pick him up.

"Do you think they are gonna cause us trouble?" He asked, after a few more moment of silence. "I mean, I know that this whole, lets hold hands and be friends thing isn't going to last, but how much trouble do you think they can cause us?" He looked out of the window. "You think they'll use this… truce… to learn about our weaknesses?"

"Yes." Derek said, voice even. Stiles knew he hated his constant flow of conversation, but there were things that needed to be said. He was lucky Stiles didn't give him a running commentary of whatever was going through his head at the time.

Mostly because it was about Derek. Yeah, Stiles had worked out (after a year or so) that he quite liked the smell of leather and earth that followed Derek around. He quite liked the way he swaggered in his jeans, or the shape of his teeth when he smiled (however rarely) or – and he'd probably be spending a **_lot_** of time with a therapist when he was older – the way the older guy would pin him to things. Walls, lockers, doors… anything really.

A part of him was sure that Derek knew, and was, in his own freaky way, trying to let him down gently. The long silences and avoiding him unless it was completely necessary had started (slowly, very slowly) to show Stiles that his crush wasn't about to announce some wild and feral love for him.

Not that Stiles would know what to do if Derek suddenly pulled the car into the side of the road and told him that he'd been denying himself too long. Probably panic, then stammer, then panic some more. Stiles was the **_king_** of unrequited love. He could lust from afar like an Olympian. He just got the feeling he wouldn't be able to cope with the pressure of someone actually being into **_him_**.

"If I'm being totally honest," Stiles admitted after a long pause, "I know that we need their help. We can't keep up patrolling all night alone, and eventually someone is going to get hurt… but I don't like them – and I sure as hell don't trust them. What if one of Chris' little buddies gets trigger happy and kills someone? Or shoots Peter 'in self-defence'?"

"I don't think you'd be shedding much tears over Peter." Derek replied, and Stiles grinned.

"Well… if they just shot him a **_little_** bit."

The sound of Derek laughing filled the car and Stiles forgot, just for a moment, that everything was going to hell.

* * *

For an Angel who'd been ignoring his calls for a year – Castiel seemed unwilling to leave Dean's side now. Sam sat on the bed in another motel – another rundown piece of crap with a spring that was digging into his ass already – and watched as Dean carefully kept a wide ring of space around the Angel. Sam had forgotten that Castiel didn't like to be touched when he'd thrown his arms around his shoulders and given him a bear hug that should have resulted in a man of his size gasping for air. Of course, being Castiel, it had been more like hugging a concrete pillar.

Dean though, was acting like Castiel wasn't even there – walking around him and talking only to Sam. He'd been on the wrong side of Dean before and knew exactly what his brother was doing, ignoring his Angel on purpose to try and pay him back for all those missed calls and – Sam had heard Dean more than once – unanswered prayers.

He leaned and pulled open the small drawer on the bedside table that a tacky plastic lamp flickered dangerously on. Sure enough, sitting under a few Twinkie wrappers, was a well-read copy of 'Good Omens' a book he'd never had time to pick up. Leaning back with a satisfied smile, he saw Castiel give him a head tilt, which he ignored in favour of turning the first page. Hell, he'd called him down for whatever cloud he'd been parked on for the better part a year a few times himself – mostly when he thought Dean was going to end up going insane – and hadn't gotten so much as a call.

"We do not know that there is an opening to Hell in this town." Castiel said, twisting his head to look at Dean, who had his back to the Angel.

"23 people don't just vanish." Sam replied – he didn't want Dean to mention the map to Castiel and have him take the thing away – or worse, ask where he got it.

"Sam knows what he's doing, Cas." Dean replied, back still turned as he pulled out the weapons and laid them on his bed. "We managed for a year, we don't need you to hold our hands."

Sam half expected Castiel to say 'I'm not holding your hand' or something equally as awkward, but the Angel remained silent, watching the back of Dean's head with an intensity Sam was glad wasn't fixed on him. How Dean managed to get on with stuff when he knew that Castiel was watching him was something he'd never understood. Probably part of that 'profound bond' that Dean didn't like anyone talking about.

"I have found no markings or wards to show any activity." Castiel remarked, glancing at Sam, who decided to keep his nose in his book. It smelt faintly of strawberry bubblegum.

"Yeah? Maybe the meat suits know more than you think." Deans voice was almost as flat and unemotional as the Angel who watched him. For a moment, it looked like Castiel was going to respond to that, but he either thought better of it, or knew it would be pointless to goad Dean in the mood he was in.

After dragging out the emptying and re-packing of his bag for much longer than he really needed, Dean finally turned to look at the Angel. "If you are gonna be hanging around, you'll need a room."

"I do not require sleep."

"Yeah, well we do, so either make yourself useful by going to get something to eat, or float off back to your cloud till we need you."

There was a sound, and where there had once been an Angel of the Lord, there was now an empty space. Dean shot him a look that Sam didn't even want to question.

"I forgot what dicks they are." He finally said, flopping down on the bed. Sam didn't bother replying, and turned the page of his book, eyes fixed firmly on the words until – an hour later – Castiel arrived in the middle of the room holding a bag of greasy burgers in one hand, and a salad in a clear plastic container in the other.

* * *

The nearest gas pump was all dry when they arrived, so Derek simply kept driving till the next one. People there had the same idea as them, and were filling up oil drums when they pulled up. Derek had three in the boot and two in the back, and it took a long time before they were ready to head back.

The smell in the car was heady and made Stiles feel like he was about to pass out, and Derek seemed to notice his discomfort.

"We'll stop here." He said suddenly, pulling into the gravel drive of some diner at the side of the road. It wasn't busy – nowhere was anymore – but it had the look of a place that never saw a lot of custom at the best of times. Stiles nodded, needing to clear his head.

Derek and Stiles sat outside on the wooden picnic tables that were well past their best, and ate off the plastic plates that their burgers had been slapped on. The fries were actually pretty good, and the burgers weren't anything like the over-processed crap that Stiles was used to getting from fast-food place in town.

"This is great." He said, mouth full. "This is **_great_**."

Derek nodded, and Stiles tried not to notice just how close the Alpha was sitting, shoulders touching with each movement.

"This place was here when I was a kid." Derek said, and Stiles wasn't sure if he should say something or not, because Derek never, ever, talked about what his life was like before the fire. Not to anyone. "My dad would bring me and Laura, and Veeva too, sometimes, and we'd get burgers and sit here."

"Veeva?" Stiles quietly asked, once he'd swallowed his mouthful.

"Genevieve. She was our little cousin." Stiles had a horrible knowledge that Peter lost more in the fire than his sanity. Jesus, how was he supposed to look at the man now? "She always ordered the biggest burger – even though she knew she'd never be able to eat it," Derek grinned, taking a drink from the glass at his side. "Dad would eat her fries when she wasn't looking." He added.

Stiles wasn't sure what to do. Derek wasn't exactly king of the over-share – and this had to be the most he'd spoke to Stiles in a couple of months at least. He didn't seem… sad, or even angry – just looked like he'd remembered something pleasant and wanted to say it out loud.

"My mom drove me to the beach one day – it took us forever to get there, and we only had time for an ice-cream before we needed to start driving back, but it was awesome." Stiles supplied.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

* * *

Derek didn't say anything for the rest of the drive back, but Stiles kept the conversation going on his end, with plans, ideas and all the information he could remember on the Ghostfacers website. By the time they pulled up at Isaac's place – where everyone had decided to stay – Stiles was sure that Derek was going to kill him just so he'd stop talking.

"We'll keep these in the garage." The Alpha said, as he lifted the full drum out of the boot with one easy movement. Isaac, who must have been waiting for them to get back, easily lifted the other out of the back-seat once he reached the car.

"Why are we keeping drums of gas?" He asked, looking at the remaining three barrels still in the car.

"First thing to go in panic is Gas and food." Stiles recited. "People start to panic buy and hoard."

"We're hoarding."

"Yeah, but we're… we're… we need it, okay?" Stiles floundered. "If things get any worse, we're going to need to be able to keep a car running for emergencies."

"Just load them into the garage, Isaac." Derek sighed. "Stiles knows what he's talking about."

When he stepped over the salt line and past the Devils trap the Lydia had finally gotten around to drawing, he walked into the kitchen to see his dad talking to Chris Argent and a couple of police officers. They were all leaning over a large map of the town.

"It looks like the missing folks all came from this part of town." His dad was saying. "Crime in this section here is becoming so bad that people are just packing up and leaving – and it's only been a couple of days."

"From what we've gathered," Chris added, pointing to a street. "This here is the worst hit. We pulled an elderly woman out of her house where she'd been stabbed to death for the money in her purse, another couple of kids drove a car right into the side of a house, killing them both."

"Derek and the boys have been patrolling these streets here," His dad pointed again to the map. "It's working – we're getting less reports and fewer instances of serious crimes, although the pretty stuff like robbery and vandalism have increased along with everywhere else."

"We're going to move the officers we have left to these sections first."

Stiles watched as his dad managed to plan out the routes and people who should be on them with pride. Derek, who'd returned from emptying the car, stood behind him, leaning on the door frame and listening in. The fact that he knew it was Derek wasn't something he really wanted to think about. He just knew.

* * *

**_Normally I try to have a really big Chapter after a day of unplanned not-writing, but work was a bit hellish today, and after the day I had yesterday, writing wasn't top of my list of things to get done._**

**_I'm hoping to get a longer chapter out tomorrow, and to make up for yesterday, I'll try to post something over the weekend as well._**

**_I'm really, really happy that everyone likes this so far, I'm a little worried I'm not paying enough attention to either Teen Wolf or Supernatural and I'm trying to keep it as even as possible. If you think I'm not giving your show enough screen time, let me know and I'll try to fix that!_**

**_Thanks so much for all of your reviews and I know a lot of you are aware that this ( like everything I write) is unbeta'd so mistakes do slip past my grammer/spelling read through before posting._**


	6. Chapter 6

Dean knew he was hurt before he felt the pain, it was easy enough to see the gleeful look on the Demon who had stuck him with the knife while he was trying to break the warding seal painted on the wall. His knees buckled before heat spread through his body, followed by a wave of pain so strong he was brought back to his time in hell.

Sam wasn't anywhere near him, back in the other side of the barn that was housing a hole out of hell. The place was full of swirling black smoke, making it hard to see – and the Demon grin was all he could really make out.

"You are going to regret that." Dean grinned back, feeling the blood in his mouth.

"Oh, the Righteous Man!" The black eyed teenager smirked. "I remember your arrogance on the rack." The demon, wearing a high school jock, complete with a letterman jacket, crooned in his ear as Dean felt the warm blood pour from the knife wound in his side. "I remember how you laughed at first, believing yourself so above us."

Dean wasn't sure if the white light at the edge of his vision was because of blood loss or because Sam had managed to break enough of the sigils to let Cas into the barn. "I remember when you broke." The demon hissed, not seeing the light that was completely overcoming Deans vision. "You'll break again." He whispered into Deans ear, and drove the blade deeper into his side.

For a moment, Dean wondered if he had actually died, the burst of light and sound was so intense that all he could do was sit and watch. The hand-print on his shoulder burned like fire, and Dean looked up at the stunned Demon.

"I guess you didn't get the memo?" He grinned, feeling the blood on his teeth and lips. "Dean Winchester was saved."

He thought he might savour the look on that assholes face for the rest of his life, before he slammed his eyes shut and let the might of Castiels grace flow over and **_through_** him - lighting up the inside of his eyelids and burning like ice.

When it was over, Dean wasn't able to re-open his eyes, they had become too heavy. Around him he could feel cool air, the crisp spring smell of earth and green, then the warm, stuffy feel of walls around him before his back hit the mattress.

"Rest." A voice commanded, and Dean was far too gone to argue.

* * *

It was dark when he opened his eyes, he must have rolled onto his side, because he could see Sam laying on his own bed – arms thrown out and one leg hanging off the edge of the small mattress. He slept like a little kid still, and Dean smiled in the darkness. Rolling over, he saw the shape standing between them. There was no panic, no fear that something was in their room, just the calm awareness of a familiar shape.

"How many times do I need to tell you?" He said, pulling himself out of bed and walking towards the small bathroom, socks making no sound on the worn carpeting. "It's creepy."

"I thought it best to remain until you were fully healed." Castiel said, not moving as Dean turned on the light to the cramped bathroom.

"What happened?" He asked, trying to keep his voice down so he wouldn't wake Sam.

"You were injured in the initial attack."

"I figured that." Dean announced to his reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror. He looked rough, needed a shave (or maybe not – he was sure he could rock a beard) and there was dried blood on his lips and skin. Someone had removed his shirt, probably to take a look at the hole in his side that was now nothing more than a pink line. The bruise on his rib, the glorious yellow and green mass, was gone. The handprint though, had the tight, shiny glaze of a recent burn. It didn't hurt, not even when he ran his hand over it, but it was still warmer than the rest of his skin. The anti-possession tattoo was stark black against his skin, the bright light overhead highlighting every flaw on his body.

When he'd been raised from hell, his skin had been perfect. He'd locked himself in the bathroom and searched for every scar he could remember. The time he'd misjudged that vamp and had a chunk taken out of his thigh, the slight pitting on his back when his dad had shot him with rocksalt by accident… the time Sam, with his first knife, had nicked his forearm and wept like a girl for three days. Nothing remained, and it had been… strange. He'd actually missed some of them, found himself forgetting the fights that accompanied them. Others… not so much. The ache in his leg when his dad had found Sammy had run off on Dean's watch… yeah, he didn't miss that.

Now though, those marks that were lost forever had been replaced with new, fresh cuts. He had new stories to go with them. He wondered if it pissed off the Angel, these new marks on the man he remade.

"How long was I out?"

"It took me longer than expected to heal the damage." Cas responded as Dean walked back through into the room that doubled as a kitchenette and bedroom. "There were more injuries than I expected."

Dean grinned at the Angel and grabbed his bag. "Yeah, it's a hard life." He grabbed some cleaner clothes and his toiletry bag. "I'm gonna have a shower." He paused. "I assume that you closed the hole?"

"Yes."

"Did I die?"

"Not long enough to matter." Castiel responded.

* * *

"So," His dad said, sitting down on the sofa beside him. "Werewolves."

"Yup." Stiles nodded. It was late – his dad was about to go out and start his patrol soon – and the street lights outside were still unlit because the power lines were still down.

"You aren't… you're not…?"

"No, dad, I'm still just a regular human."

"You listen to me," His dad said, turning to face him on the couch, his thick jacket making him look much bigger than Stiles knew he was. "You have never been a **_regular_** human, son, and this morning – your speech about protecting your friends…" He gripped his shoulder. "I want you to know that I'm so proud of you."

It wasn't the first time his dad had said he was proud of him, but it was the first time that he'd said it with such fierceness. It made Stiles feel strange, like he was going to cry or laugh or both.

They sat like that for a few moments; just… together… before his dad gave his shoulder another squeeze and got to his feet. "Well, I'd better get going." He grinned wryly. "I'm out with Boyd and Carson, one of the deputies from the station. We'll be back around dawn, and I want you to make sure you get enough sleep, okay?"

"Dad, look... I don't trust Chris, okay? I just don't. Please be careful out there."

His dad gave him a long look and nodded. "I don't trust anyone who can't see the difference between a monster and a teenager."

Stiles saw Boyd fill the doorframe of the living room, his sheer size making him appear much more dangerous that the soft spoken guy he was. His dad glanced at his patrol partner and shrugged. "Well, that's my sign to get going." His dad sighed. "Get some sleep. It doesn't look like this is going to get better anytime soon and you need to stay rested."

Stiles, who hated the idea that his dad was going out, was slightly relieved that he was going out with Boyd who was strong enough to keep his dad safe.

He stood on the door step and looked out over the town. There were no street lights, only a couple of houses stood out in the darkness – their generators attracting more people at night. Then, right in the centre, was the hospital. It stood out like a lighthouse in the darkness, bright and shining. With the power lines down, no one had been able to contact those inside, and the doors remained tightly shut.

Scott spent a lot of his time standing in the empty car park looking up at the windows. You could see people inside, and he'd managed to spot his mom, looking harried and worried – but she'd waved and smiled and it had gone a long way to soothing Scott.

"You should get some rest." A voice from behind him said. He turned to face the Alpha and gave a little shrug.

"My dad is out there." He said, as way of explanation. "I doubt I'll get much sleep."

"Try."

* * *

Stiles woke up to the sound of soft snoring coming from his dad. The room was packed, with Isaac giving his room up to share. Sleeping bags were all over the house, and Stiles was jammed between Scott and Derek – both of whom had forgone the sleeping bags because there body temp ran warmer than regular people. His dad was asleep, he'd even managed to climb inside the sleeping bag before crashing out – which made a change to the previous night. The most interesting thing though, was the warm arm that was flung carelessly over his waist. Derek, who'd insisted that he got some sleep, had his hand resting on top of Stiles sleeping bag, bringing Stiles back to press closely into his body.

He was warm, he felt safe and protected – but knew that he was just kidding himself. There was no way that Derek would (if he was awake) keep Stiles so close. It was a bitter pill to swallow before you'd even woken up properly.

Trying to climb out of a sleeping bag was never easy at the best of times, but when you were trying not to wake two sleeping werewolves, it was damn near impossible. After getting an accidental elbow to the ribs, Derek finally moved his arm from its resting place and sat up, blinking a few times and looking around the room.

"I'm going to make breakfast." Stiles said, trying to free his legs from the lining of the blanket that had become tangled like a vice through the night.

"Bacon." Derek muttered, before turning over and falling almost immediately back to sleep.

The kitchen was the only room in the house that didn't seem to have people in it. Boyd was asleep on the couch, Stiles knew that the remaining police officers were bunked in what used to be Derek's room, and the spare room was where Lydia and her parents were sleeping, after her flat refusal to remain in either of their houses.

The gas stove was still working, so Stiles started putting some kind of breakfast together. Someone had obviously made a more productive trip to the abandoned store than Stiles – who'd just grabbed the salt – and the fridge and pantry were fully stocked.

He had the bacon in the oven to keep it warm while he worked his way through the eggs, trying to keep the salt down, because he wasn't sure if they might need it later for something more important than breakfast – when Derek appeared.

"Bacon?"

Stiles pointed an elbow to the oven and grinned. "You'd think I didn't know how to make breakfast." He quipped. "Make yourself useful and start toasting this loaf."

The kitchen wasn't small, but Stiles felt like he was constantly bumping into the Alpha as they worked on getting things prepared. He kept a running commentary on everything that was going through his head, to the worry that they were never going to have enough hot water for everyone to shower, to the lack of lacrosse.

"Seriously, can you just put a little butter on the toast?" He said, nudging Derek in the ribs. "It doesn't need to be inches think. Think about the heart attack you're trying to give my dad."

"I'm only using a little." Derek grumped, but he started to spread it a little thinner, not moving from Stiles side.

"Do you know what happened last night?" He questioned, "When you were out?"

"Same as last night." Derek shrugged, reaching past Stiles and pulling a couple of slices out of the toaster. "Managed to keep the worst of the violence down, nothing serious. No one was hurt."

"I think we need to go door to door today, and set up some kind of safe house for people." Stiles said after a few moments. "I don't like the idea of people being in their houses alone, you know?"

"We took a look." Derek admitted. "I don't know what is going on, but there aren't as many people as there should be – I know Peter said that about 50 people went missing, but last night… I'd say it was closer to a few hundred."

"Jesus." Stiles breathed. "What the hell is going on?"

"It gets worse." Derek muttered. "Chris said that one of his men heard… something… in the woods. He didn't shoot it because he wasn't sure if it was one of us."

"Did he say what it looked like?"

He didn't see anything, although he said it sounded pretty close to them, he couldn't catch a look."

"What did it sound like?"

"A dog." Derek said. "A really **_big_** dog."

* * *

Sam wasn't really paying attention to where he was walking because he was used to people staying out of his way. However, when the two guys jumped him from a darkened ally, he was fully alert. Used to fighting demons and monsters, a couple of angry muggers were nothing he couldn't deal with – but when he tossed one of them into the dirty wall, he saw the large group of guys that were watching him with dark intent.

"Give us your wallet." One commanded, and Sam saw the dull shine of a gun in the dim light.

"I don't have my wallet on me." He said, holding up his hands. "All I've got is a book."

"He's fucking lying!" Someone shouted from the back, pushing forward. Sam knew a lot about crowds, so he was ready for the first punch that landed against his ribs, and rolled with it. He was able to keep the majority of them off his back for a while, until the crack of a gun had him sinking to his knees, whiting out his vision with pain.

Someone pushed him down, going through his pockets and finding nothing but the well-worn paperback he'd stuffed in the back pocket of his jeans before leaving Dean to heal up and Castiel to sit beside him and ask questions about the hygiene of kissing in an operating room – Deans reply was lost to him as he walked out.

They didn't know where he was, he thought slowly, the markings on his ribs would stop the Angel from picking up on his location. Seemingly satisfied that he was carrying nothing else but the book he'd told them about, the guys stopped going through his clothes.

"You know, Samsquatch, you really need to stop the big boys taking away your reading material." A dry voice commented from down the alleyway.

"Who the fuck are you?" One of the guys said, but Sam couldn't see anything beyond the ground he was laying on. He heard the sound of feet moving away, and then a soft pop – no louder than the snap of fingers – before everything faded completely.

* * *

Dean was sitting on the couch, drinking a beer and enjoying the re-runs of Dr Sexy on the only channel that he could get to work. He was even enjoying the occasional question that would be thrown his way by the Angel sitting beside him. Cas had – **_finally_** – taken off his trench and jacket and was sitting in his shirt and tie. Dean had offered him a beer, but so far he'd not managed to get him to take a drink and the bottle was held carefully in his hand as he perched on the couch, eyes fixed on the TV.

"He is sexy because that is his name." The Angel said, eventually.

Dean rolled his eyes and took another swig of his bottle. "He's sexy because he's good looking." He clarified. "He's called Dr Sexy because that's his name."

"He is attractive because of his 'luscious mane of hair'" Cas supplied, lifting the line directly from the show.

"Yup. And his cowboy boots."

"I see."

Dean doubted that. "See, he's getting all these hot chicks cause he's got the hair, and he gets all the hot nerdy chicks cause he's smart."

"Like Sam."

Dean didn't like to think the sound he made came from him. "What has this got to do with Sammy?"

"He has long, thick hair, and he is also very intelligent." Cas clarified. "Therefore he is sexy, but not **_Doctor_** Sexy, because his name is Samuel Winchester." And didn't his angel just look utterly thrilled with this statement?

"No. Sam is not sexy, Sam is **_Sam_**." Dean bit out. "The last girl he got in his bed was just using him to bring about the end of the world." Dean pointed out. "I'm the sexy one here. I get chicks all the time."

"But your hair is short."

"So? Not all chicks get off on guys with girl hair!" He argued. He wasn't even sure if that sentence made sense to anyone.

"Perhaps when I remade you I should have given you more hair." Cas mused, giving Dean an odd look, like he was trying to think what he would look like with Fabio locks. Dean spluttered under the gaze.

"My hair is fine!" He managed. "Don't mess with my hair!" It took a few moments to see the slight crinkle in the corners of his too blue eyes. "Are you joking?" Dean asked, letting it sink in that Cas had actually told a joke that Dean **_got_**, the Angel tipping his head slightly to the left with that half smile Dean hadn't even **_known_** he'd missed. "You dick!" He laughed, taking another swing of his beer. "You total dick."

* * *

**_Well, Another chapter for you all. _**

**_I hope you liked it. I'm going to try to get another one out over the weekend, but no promises. Things are starting to get a little more complicated in Beacon Hills - and Poor Sammy!_**

**_Thanks so much for all your great feedback and I'm really enjoying working on this. I just need to get a better grip on my characters and then I'm going to start seriously progressing the plot._**


	7. Chapter 7

There were three things that Danny knew for sure. Firstly, he missed Jackson like a hole in the heart – even though they still sent emails it just wasn't the same as sitting down and playing Call of Duty with the guy who once tried to make you eat dirt for a dare in kindergarten.

Secondly, he had the worst taste in men in the world. His most recent disaster had dumped him via text because – and this was a direct quote – 'you are just too nice.' Now, as soon as Danny worked out what the hell that was supposed to mean (doesn't everyone like nice? Isn't nice **_good_**?) He was going to text him back with a big old: Fuck You.

Thirdly, and most importantly, his body was not under his control. He'd given up screaming and yelling when he realised that it wasn't actually doing anything, and his body just kept on going. Currently, his body was about to break into a house a few blocks down from where he lived, and no matter how much he tried to stop... nothing happened.

"Fuck this." His voice said. "Lets just set fire to the place and see what comes out."

"Shut up, Marbas."

That was another thing, he wasn't the only person who wasn't in control of his body. The girl standing beside him was in his English Lit class, she sat in the front and had a crush on the teacher, who didn't seem to be able to remember her name. Danny couldn't remember her name either, and he felt bad about that now – because she wasn't herself anymore.

"My first time out of the pit and you've got me doing petty shit like this, Zepar?" His voice said, as his hand smashed through a window, sending glass shards everywhere. Danny had gotten used to that. It didn't hurt.

"We need to get anything that can stop this working." Zepar-not-the-girl-from-Lit-class snapped at him. "The fucking hounds are already out. Do you want to be the one who has to go back down there and tell him we didn't clean out the meatsuits, huh? That you were too busy bitching about being bored and left a fucking breather in the basement somewhere?"

Oh, yeah, Danny thought, he was pretty sure he was being possessed by a demon.

"Look, I never said that!" His voice said. "Sitri is already trying to get into the hospital – fucking feathers have it locked down."

"Forget about Sitri!" The demon inside the girl snapped at him, eyes black. "Focus on this! We need to make sure all the suits are near the door so when the time comes we can blow the locks off."

That was something else Danny knew. Although he was walking about – in a way – there were hundreds of people being kept in the sewers. Hundreds of people, locked underground. Danny had seen the bombs, strapped to people who could do nothing but stand and cry as he walked past them.

Danny though, had a plan. He'd noticed that he was able to keep his thoughts away from whatever was wearing his body, but if he yelled and kicked loud enough – he got a reaction. Which was lucky because he'd just caught a smell of something he would have been able to pick out of a room of sweaty jocks.

He screamed, managed to get his eyes to flicker to the left of the house, and tried – however ineffectually – to run away. Okay, not the most masculine thing he'd ever done, but it got the demon to pay attention. His body spun around, he could feel his eyes scanning the street.

"Marbas! Stop fucking around!"

"He saw something."

"Who did?"

"The suit. He saw something over there."

"Go take a look then." Zarbas snapped. Danny could hear her muttering about 'fucking first timers' as she smashed her first through the remaining glass and crawled into the house.

His body moved down the street, slowly, eyes darting over shadows and shapes. Danny kept screaming, kicking – anything to keep the attention on the street and not what he could smell.

The demon though, seemed to pick up on it too, because suddenly Danny was spinning around, and he was face to face with... well... he wasn't sure what the hell he was looking at, but it dressed like Isaac Lahey, and it smelt like Isaac Lahey (Davidoff, Cool Waters) and that was good enough for Danny – because he tried to scream for help.

"Oh, it looks like this one has a thing for you." His mouth said, and Danny could see possibly-Isaac-if-Isaac-was-in-a-monster-movie take a few steps forward.

"Danny?"

"Is this his name?" His mouth said, running his hands down his chest and over his crotch. "Danny – he's screaming in here. Screaming like a little girl." His mouth laughed. Isaac-with-fangs didn't seem to take that news very well at all, a low growl in the back of his throat that Danny could actually feel vibrate through him. "Oh! You've got yourself a little werewolf boyfriend!" His mouth said. "Careful, pooch – I can kill him like that." His fingers snapped in front of Isaacs glowing (Jesus, glowing?) eyes.

Then something grabbed him from behind, and Danny felt the world go completely black.

* * *

When his eyes opened, it wasn't Danny who opened them. He could see people around him, people he knew, recognised.

"Isn't this grand?" His voice said, eyes lingering over them all. "You've got your own little wolf pack."

"Get out of him." Stiles commanded, and Danny hadn't heard him use that tone of voice before. This was Stiles, skinny, pale, **_sarcastic_** Stiles – acting like he was used to throwing orders around.

"Yeah... how about... fuck you?" Danny felt his mouth move, words coming out without his permission.

"Get out, or I'll force you out." Stiles said, and started chanting in a language Danny had only ever heard Lydia mutter under her breath. He didn't even know Stiles took those classes.

"Awww! Don't you think you're the cutest little demon hunter in existence?" His voice laughed. "My name is Marbas and I'm a Duke of Hell. I've waited too long for this to let a breather like you ruin my fun."

"Then you can just rot here for a while." Stiles shot back. Isaac didn't look to happy with that at all, Danny noticed. Unfortunately, so did the Demon controlling him.

"My little lover here isn't thrilled with that." Danny's voice smirked. "Looks like he's going to rip out your throat with those teeth of his." He felt his face twist into a mocking smile. "You aren't a werewolf, you aren't his pack – he'll not even **_blink_** before he chews on your liver."

Stiles grinned, and Danny was... scared. He knew Stiles – or at least, he thought he knew him – but that smile was utterly feral. "Well, it looks like the Dukes of Hell don't know a damn thing." Stiles said, motioning for the others to leave the room. Danny figured they were in the basement. There were markings on the walls, on the floors – and looking at them made the Demon in his skin feel uncomfortable. "Enjoy your prison."

"You've made a terrible mistake." The demon shouted at Stiles back as he walked up the stairs. "When I get out of here, I'm going to make this friend of yours eat your heart."

Stiles stopped and looked over his shoulder. "We are going to get this thing out of you, Danny." He said. "We are going to do everything we can to get this thing out of you."

Danny heard the Demon Marbas laugh with his mouth, and his voice – but his mind was his own. He knew that Stiles was going to do it. No matter what.

His unshakeable belief seemed to amuse Marbas, but they were sharing the same space, and Danny could feel that niggle of his worry as though it was his own.

* * *

**_Here is a mini chapter to tide you over till Monday!_**

**_I may do another one from someone else's point of view tomorrow. Any requests? I'd rather not do Dean/Sam/Stiles or Derek and leave them for a 'real chapter' on Monday._**

**_I'm open to suggestions and if I pick your idea I'll let you know :) _**


	8. Chapter 8

Sam woke up to the sound of breathy female giggling, which he was sure didn't fit into the dark alley where he'd passed out or the dingy motel he was staying in with his brother. The giggling was… sultry. He snapped open his eyes and looked about.

There were two women standing over him, dressed in (what he assumed) outfits that were supposed to look like sexy nurses. He wasn't Dean – he was always able to tell the difference between real life and porn.

"Who are you?" He asked, trying to push up out of the bed. It was large, very comfortable and nothing like the beds he was used to sleeping in. The whole room was decorated in reds and gold, and looked a little like a high end brothel.

The blond 'nurse' giggled and put her hand over his chest – which he now realised was bare. He was naked under the maroon silk sheets. "We're here to look after you." She soothed, running her hand down the line of his chest.

"If there is anything you need." The red-head smiled, her hands snaking around the waist of the blond who was still touching him, "Anything at all…" she sighed dreamily. "We can make you feel **_so_** much better."

There was something about the whole set up that reminded him too much of… He gently, but firmly, pushed the blond 'nurses' hand away and sat up.

"I want my clothes back, Trickster."

"Come on, Sammich! I saved your life – give a guy a break." The voice came from directly beside him, and although Sam knew that moments ago he was alone in the bed, he turned to find himself face to face with a pouting Angel. He didn't look too angelic though, in a red and gold smoking jacket and two 'nurses' gently rubbing his shoulders.

"Aren't you **_dead_**?"

"Aren't you a buzz kill?" Gabriel shot back, thin lips twisting into a mocking grin. "I bet Dean-o would just lap this up." The Angel waved his hand and the girls, and the room, shifted suddenly – Sam could only think of it as a television channel shifting from one show to another as it was tuned up.

The motel room he found himself in was almost exactly like the one that he was sharing with Dean, right down to the smell. The main difference was that this one was cleaner, and there was a buffet table in the centre literally groaning under the weight of cakes, puddings, pies and candy that were covering it. Sam was sprawled out on the bed, dressed in clothes that looked a lot like the ones he was wearing before – but cleaner, and better quality. He wondered if the Archangel had a problem with his discount store brand of jeans.

Gabriel was standing over by the table already, a large slice of chocolate cake in his hand. He was still wearing his smoking jacket however, and Sam didn't want to know what (if anything) he had on under it. How he was managing to eat it without getting the frosting – or the crumbs – all over his face, Sam wasn't able to tell, because he was doing a great impression of a pig. He looked over at Sam and smiled.

"Calorie free, Gigantor." He said, white teeth and wide grin. "Tuck in."

"Where am I?" He asked. He could hear the pornstar groans coming from the other room – Dean had already complained that you could hear everything through the thin walls.

Gabriel looked slightly disappointed. "The crappy little motel that **_your_** brother picked and **_my_** brother can't seem to leave." He paused. "They're next door."

For a horrible instant, Sam thought that the aspiring pornstars he could hear were Dean and Castiel, and his brain shorted out. Gabriel obviously saw his expression, because he laughed like he was about to die. "For the love of Dad!" He snorted. "I like the way your mind works, but no." He pointed to the wall that would have been on the other side of the room. "Next door, that way." He paused, as though he was looking at something through Sam. "They're watching TV and baby bro is trying a slice of pizza." He grimaced. "He doesn't like it, but he's not telling Dean." He stopped looking through Sam and focused his honey brown eyes completely on him, and for a moment, Sam couldn't help but wonder if this was how Dean felt when Castiel was looking at him – like he was the only thing worth seeing. "You taking good care of my brother, Sammy-boy?"

"He can take care of himself." Sam responded without thinking. That was Dean's line, what Dean had been saying for the year that Castiel had just… not bothered showing up. The expression on Gabriel's face was… disappointed… before it changed into a cocky grin.

"How'd you like your reading material?" He asked, lifting a slice of pie to his lips.

"That was you?" Sam asked, wondering if he was managing to pull off a decent surprised look. Gabriel's expression flickered between amusement and annoyance before settling on a shit eating grin.

"Who else could it be, Sammsquatch?" He quipped. "No one else loves you like I do."

"You killed my brother."

"Temporarily."

"Hundreds of times." Sam reminded him. "Then for a whole year." He paused. "I remember."

"Ah!" Gabriel said, waving a hand like it was water under the bridge. "But I gave it all back though, didn't I? And I **_died_**– you know. Took one for the team."

"If you think that makes up for all the times you killed my brother-" Sam started, only to be waved into silence by the Angel.

"I just saved your life, you ungrateful dick." He grinned. "No Angelic interference and you'd be a footnote in a local paper, and Dean would be all alone." He paused, letting those words sink in. "And think how sad he would be, because he was watching TV and drinking beer with an **_Angel_** rather than out there, saving you."

Sam felt something inside of him wince at that thought. Dean would never forgive himself, and he'd blame Castiel for not doing something – even if there was nothing the Angel could have done.

"I'm not saying I'm not grateful." Sam said. "I'm just saying it doesn't make up for the hell you put me through."

Gabriel shrugged. "I guess I'll just have to win you over some other way." He grinned, white teeth shining.

"Why do you want to win me over at all?" Sam asked, knowing that the Angel **_always_** had an agenda.

"Oh, I just don't think it's fair that everyone got a Winchester but me."

"Nobody 'got' a Winchester!" Sam snapped. He didn't need reminding about Lucifer and Michaels sibling rivalry.

"Well, okay, so Micky didn't get Dean, but then Dean is better at saying 'no' to Angels who want inside him, if you get my meaning." His eyebrow wiggle left nothing to the imagination. "And Luci got you good."

"Can we not talk about that?" Sam asked, and was a little surprised when Gabriel looked guilty.

"I could bring the girls back?" He suggested. "If you find them preferable to all **_this_**." He waved a hand over his body, and Sam couldn't help but snort with laughter.

"Dean is going to miss me."

Gabriel shrugged. "I doubt that. He's got my baby brother drinking beer. However, if you change your mind…" He smirked. "I'm here all night." The Angel looked about the room. "Well… I might have to make a few changes, but you get the drift."

* * *

Dean was watching Cas closely as the Angel ate another slice of pizza and swallowed it down with a swig of beer. He wasn't quite sure the Angel was enjoying it, but he wasn't complaining, so Dean was willing to go with it. He'd stopped asking questions about why Dr Sexy was sexy, at least.

"That is not hygienic." Cas supplied, as Dr Sexy and nurse of the week made out on the operating table. He took another swig of the beer and Dean tried not to feel like he'd broken some Angel rule. Cas had gotten drunk before, and a couple of beers wasn't going to get him anywhere near buzzed. He hadn't done anything wrong.

"Probably not." Dean responded, watching as Cas took another swig out of the beer bottle in his hand. He had relaxed a little more, was sitting back in the chair like a real live boy, rather than a puppet on strings – pizza slice in one hand and the other steadying the bottle on his thigh. If it wasn't for the shirt and dress pants, he'd fit right in to the sleazy motel. "You need another?" He said, grabbing two bottles out of the pack he'd brought in from the car. Cas looked at him, and then the bottle in his hand. He nodded, and – in a movement born of more practice than he had – he downed it in one.

"Woah! No rush dude." Dean laughed, but popped the cap off and handed a fresh one over. He wasn't gonna get the Angel drunk, but **_he_** was getting a little buzzed.

"I do not wish for you to consume more than myself." Cas said, looking at the bottle Dean was offering him. "I have noticed that it is customary to 'Keep Up' when consuming alcohol."

"Where'd you pick that up?" He grinned, taking a swig of his own. Cas watched him closely, something Dean was used to, as he thought of how to word his answer.

"Your behaviour with Sam," He supplied after a while. "Other people around you in public houses. I also engaged in a drinking 'match' with Ellen."

Dean laughed, he'd forgotten about that. "You drank her under the table." He remembered, with a smile. "Good times."

"Yes." Cas nodded, taking another drink. "You found it amusing."

* * *

Stiles was sitting in the kitchen, alone of the first time in a week. Danny was still in the basement, tied to a chair and screaming at the top of his lungs. Sometimes he sounded too much like Danny and Stiles would have to remind people that they knew it was **_Marbas_**.

Nothing worked, either. All the spells he got from the Ghostfacers site didn't do a damn thing. He re-watched the clips over and over, trying to get something to help.

"One thing those douchebag Winchesters told us…" the voiceover intoned, and Stiles hit the pause button. It wasn't the first time that the Ghostfacers had spoken about the Winchesters. Stiles was sure they weren't talking about guns.

There were a lot of perks about being the kid of the sheriff, especially as his dad wasn't able to set up an email without Stiles help – was that he knew all his dad's passwords for the official sites. Looking over his shoulder, he did a state-wide search for Winchester. Hundreds of names popped up. Figuring that fighting ghosts and demons might leave you on the wrong side of the law, he refined his search.

"Grave desecration." He read, and knew he'd hit a winner. A few search results later, and some possible illegal and probable jail time should he ever be caught, he had two names. Dean and Samuel Winchester. Deceased.

"Fuck." He sighed, letting his head hit the table.

"Something wrong?" Derek asked.

"Everything." He mumbled. "It's been a week. Nothing is getting better, in fact, it's getting worse! We know that these… Demons are taking people, but we don't know where – and something is stuck inside of Danny!" Frustration seeping out of his pores. "I thought I had a lead or something, and it turns out the only people I know who might be able to help are dead."

He felt Derek reach over his head and look at the screen. His chest touching Stiles back. There had been a lot of moments that Stiles was saving up for later, when all this was over, and Derek went back to avoiding him again. "These Winchesters?"

"Mmfh." He mumbled.

"There is a list of known associates here." Derek pointed out, hand resting on Stiles shoulder and pulling him upright gently. "Try calling around." He said, pulling back and handing Stiles his mobile.

"Thanks Derek."

* * *

"Hello, is this Robert Signer?" Stiles asked, having had more dead ends and unknown numbers than he knew what to do with. Derek was sitting now, with the laptop, trying to go through all the 'Bobby Singers' in America. There were a few, so far none of them knew anything about the Winchester brothers.

"Who the hell is this?" a gruff voice barked over the phone.

"Um, my name is Stiles Stilinski." He stammered. "Who answers a phone like that? No one should answer a phone like that. You've got the worst telephone manner I've ever even heard." Stiles wasn't able to stop the words spilling out of his mouth. "I've got to deal with a werewolf who has a better telephone manner than you." He added, before realising what he said. Damn. If this wasn't who he was looking for he was in serious trouble.

"Son, did you just say you had a werewolf?" The voice cut through, and Stiles grimaced.

"Are you Robert Singer who knows Dean and Samuel Winchester?" He hedged.

"Did those idjits give you this number?"

"Uh, aren't they dead?"

"They died?" The voice on the other end of the phone yelled, deafening him on one ear. Even Derek winced. "Those selfish sons of bitches! What the hell was it this time, huh?" The voice ranted. "I swear to God I'm gonna kick their butts next time I see em."

"You can't if they're dead." Stiles pointed out.

"Don't you get smart with me, boy. I'm owed a few favours over the years. If they went an died, I'm gonna go down to hell and pull em out myself."

"Look, I hacked into the FBI database to get this information." Stiles admitted. "It said they died a few years ago, in police custody."

"You a cop?"

"Uh, no." Stiles said. "I'm the son of the local sheriff in Beacon Hills."

"And you've got a werewolf problem?"

"Yeah, he snores." Stiles quipped, and Derek glared at him. "And steals the best bits of bacon." He paused. "Look, we've got a serious problem here," He started, only to be cut off.

"Silver." The gruff voice said. "Silver bullets, arrows if you've got em. Wolfbane if you can get-"

"Wait, wait!" Stiles cut over the business-like voice. "The problem isn't the werewolves, the werewolves are fine." He rushed. "We aren't killing any pack members."

"You've got a damn **_pack_**?"

"Yeah, and they play lacrosse and buy toilet rolls, so forget about the wolves." He managed. "The problem is the demons."

"Demons?"

"Yeah." Stiles nodded, forgetting that the person on the other side of the phone couldn't actually see him. "We've got one tied up in the basement in a Devil Trap." Stiles said. "We tried to, you know, exorcize him with the Ghostfacers spell, and he just laughed it off. Said he was a Duke of Hell."

"His name Crowley by any chance?" The voice said dryly. "If it is, you tell him to go shove his demon ass where the sun don't shine."

"His name is Marbas." Stiles looked at Derek, who was obviously able to hear the conversation, and shrugged at him. Although he sounded totally insane, Stiles was hoping that this Robert person knew what he was talking about.

"Marbas?" the gruff voice said, sounding pre-occupied. "Hang on."

Stiles could hear the dry sound of paper being moved about, the unmistakeable sound of a heavy book being thrown down on a table. "Marbas…" The man muttered, as papery noises rasped in Stiles ear. "Aint nothing here about any Marbas." He commented. "Lemmie try…" He never finished his sentence, but Stiles could hear him moving about. "He give you any more than that?"

"He said it was his first time." Stiles shrugged. "He's threatened to eat me a couple of times, set his dogs on me."

"Dogs?" the gruff voice sounded interested.

"Yeah, 'My hounds are going to feast on your entrails', that kind of thing."

"Hounds aint dogs."

"Mr Singer-"

"Call me Bobby, everyone else does."

"Bobby, look… can you help us get this thing out of my friend?" Stiles asked. "We've got a lot going on here – Demons are taking people – hundreds of people – and we don't know where." He paused. "The only people who aren't missing are in this street, and we're constantly on patrol."

"I've not got anything here for this Marbas, but I'll keep lookin'. Try to figure something out." He paused. "Try to see if the boys can swing by. Been busy though, you aint the only town hit hard." Stiles was sure the sound on the other end of the line was Bobby running his hand over his face. "Damn apocalypse is over, and the world is still going to hell." He coughed. "I've got your number. I'll call you back."

"Thanks Bobby."

"Don't mention it."

* * *

"Some kid with a computer tracked me down." Bobby said down the line. "A damn kid. Got a demon in his basement and a werewolf pack somewhere nearby."

Dean ran his hand over his face. They had just gotten back from a nest of vampires and Sam had been hurt. He was stitching up his arm while Cas hovered between them both, unsure as to why they wouldn't let him heal their injuries. "Bobby, we're beat. We've had one day off and just ganked a nest of fangers."

"Yeah, well I've got a kid who tol' me he's getting his information from some damn Ghostfacers website."

Dean groaned. He fucking hated those guys. "And this aint no regular Demon, Dean, they've got a Duke of Hell in the basement and no damn clue what to do."

Sam winced and Cas frowned. "Look, Bobby, we need to stitch ourselves up here. We can't leave tonight, this town is crazy when the sun goes down."

He jotted down the town and the kid they were supposed to meet once they arrived, and hung up with an exhausted "Night, Bobby."

He looked at his brother, the bloody clothes and the air of exhaustion and sighed. "Cas, you wanna go pick up some food? Angels choice." He asked. "Don't bother with the beer, just get us some sodas or whatever."

The Angel nodded and was suddenly gone. "You can't keep using him for take-out." Sam bitched, still sewing up his arm. "He's an Angel."

"Cas doesn't mind." Dean shrugged, pulling off his shirt and throwing it into the pile of layers that Sam had already needed to shed to start on his arm. They wouldn't wash, he'd probably need to burn em. "He gets to pick what we eat." He shrugged. "Every meal is an adventure." At his brothers disapproving look, he smirked. "Look, if it bothers you so much, don't eat the food."

* * *

By the time Dean was out of the shower and into clothes that weren't soaked with blood, Cas had already returned, and Sam was being a gigantic hypocrite with a plate piled full of Indian food. Cas, who could recently be coerced into having a plate of whatever they were having, was sitting across from him and watching his expression.

Dean grabbed a soda can and opened it with one hand as he sat down. "Sweet. What we looking at?"

"A small selection of Indian foods." Cas said, still watching Sam. "The proprietor informed me that they were 'hot' which I assume was not referring to the temperature."

The fact that Sam, mouth full of his first bite, suddenly turned beet red only highlighted the fact. Dean – who had just taken a drink – snorted soda out of his nose at the sight of his brother actually gasping for air. He was doubled over with laughter and coughing by the time Sam held his mouth under the faucet, tears rolling down his face.

"Holy hell, Cas!" He wheezed. "You are a fucking legend." Dean looked over at his brother and started laughing again at the sight of his bright red face now covered in water, his 'mane of luscious hair' soaked and plastered to his head. "You are the funniest Angel in the garrison." Dean grinned, leaning over and grabbing his Angels shoulder. "Don't let anyone tell you different." He dipped a finger into the nearest metal container and gingerly tasted it. Creamy and spicy, it didn't burn his face off or melt his taste buds. In fact, Dean couldn't remember having something quite so nice. I tasted like real food, not processed burgers or cardboard pizza. He gave Cas a questioning look and saw the Angel tip his head slightly to the left.

"Sam informed me that he is able to eat any curry without discomfort." Cas deadpanned. "I was simply testing this theory."

"Did you just… did you…" Dean felt his brain stutter over what he was hearing. "Did you just play a practical joke on my brother?" Cas expression didn't change, he just continued to watch Dean with those blue eyes, the crinkles at the side. Dean started laughing again. "Dude, you just got punk'd by an Angel!"

Sam turned off the water and after wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt, sat back down. His mouth and eyes were red, and Dean couldn't tell if those were tears or water from the faucet. "Can you please not do that again?" Was all he said, taking a long drink of his soda, voice weak and uneven.

Dean was about to fall off his chair he was laughing so hard. "God Cas, don't you ever, ever change." He grabbed a fork and started to fill his plate. "You might have just overtaken Bobby in the list of people I like more than Sam."

"I am not yet above Dr Sexy." Cas informed Sam, with a half-smile.

"No one is above Dr Sexy." Dean grinned, mouth full of food. "Eat."

* * *

**_We've had snow in the UK so you might as well just shut England down. Luckily up here in Scotland, we are a little better equipped (although not by much judging by the road outside my house) for the white stuff. _**

**_So we are getting to the actual cross-over part of the story and I'm dreading it a little because I'm worried I'll lose hold of the characters personalities in the mix up._**

**_Also... GABE! I love Gabriel. His sections will reek of fangirl, I'm sorry, I can't help it. I love him. _**

**_I got a few suggestions for a mini chapter, and I will be adding them in later. Yesterday I was just a little too busy to sit down and write, but I managed to get it done today! _**

**_Let me know what you think – and if you liked/disliked something, please tell me so I can either do it more or do it less! _**


	9. Chapter 9

Sam was reading in the back of the impala while Dean played tape after tape of classic rock trying to find something that Cas actually liked. So far he hadn't found anything, and Sam (who was actually trying to read) wondered what would happen if Cas turned out to be a country fan. The thought made him smile as he dipped into his pocket and pulled out a packet of M&M's, opening them while trying to keep his page.

"You hoarding candy back there?" Dean cut over the music, frowning at Sam through the rear-view mirror.

"No." He shrugged. "Want some?"

"Nah."

"Yes." Cas replied, holding out his hand. Rather than giving him a few candies, Sam handed the bag over. Cas smiled and Sam fought back a grin. So far they'd found out that the Angel liked spring rolls, burgers without relish, rogan josh and (Dean had tried and it said it wasn't half bad, but Sam refused to even touch it) haggis. His choice of take-out was… unusual… but Sam had to admit, it was better than the greasy pizzas and burgers they'd eaten without him. He still thought Dean was abusing his Angel privileges though.

He turned the page of his book and pulled a sucker out of his shirt pocket. He'd **_never_** use an Angel like that.

* * *

Derek was snoring lightly, which Stiles actually found pretty soothing. The Alpha and his dad had only gotten back to the house a few hours ago, both men patrolling the street between midnight and 5am. Although they tried to be quiet when they got back, Derek crawling into his usual space between Stiles sleeping bag and the wall woke him.

"Sorry." He mumbled, kicking off his boots as he lay down on top of his covers. Scott had left the hour before, with Chris Argent, and wouldn't be back until breakfast at 9am, so Stiles was able to scoot his bag over a bit to give Derek a little more room.

Derek though, didn't seem too happy about that, and had pulled him back a little, mumbling something about warmth. He was already half asleep, so Stiles didn't argue, they needed all the rest they could get. His dad got the only bed in the room, stepping over Isaac and Alison to get under the covers. He was asleep being his head even hit the pillow.

With Derek's warm, heavy arm thrown over his waist, Stiles felt safe and protected in the darkness. The warm huff of breath on his neck was familiar and comforting – smelling of Derek and leather, and he drifted off.

* * *

Breakfast was the only time of the day that everyone was in the same place at the same time. This morning, Stiles was making enough to feed a small army, which he guessed they probably were at this point. Isaac and Chris had arrived back a few minutes ago, talking to his dad and the others while Stiles made food.

Normally, Derek would take this time to come through and help, but Chris was holding the floor with the news.

"It wasn't a werewolf." Isaac agreed.

"I've never seen anything like it." Chris was saying. "It's invisible, and its huge."

"Smells like rotting meat and death." Isaac supplied. "If I didn't hear it moving I'd have thought it was a carcass."

"It's a hellhound." Stiles said, buttering the toast. "You can only see them if they are dragging you to hell." All eyes fixed on him, and he shrugged. "I've been speaking to Bobby on the phone, and he's pretty sure that what we've got. He thinks they're trying to stop people leaving."

"Guarding the town limits." Chris nodded. "That would make sense." He pointed to the map on the table. "We've heard of them here," he pointed, "and here – Scott was sure he picked up the scent of one down here also." He looked at the map where he'd indicated. "All roads leading out of town."

"Are they there during the day?" Derek asked, frowning.

"Not from what we've seen, but people might think it's easier to sneak in the darkness out of here than drive down the main road in broad daylight."

"Did this Bobby person tell you thing about them?" His dad asked him as Stiles carried the plates to the table and set them down on top of the map.

"Yeah." He nodded. "Don't piss them off. Now, eat."

* * *

The amount of burnt out cars and destroyed houses had reached the stage where Dean was starting to think that they were driving into a warzone and not a previously sleepy middle America town that Beacon Hills was reported to be.

"Stop the car." Cas said, and Dean slammed on the breaks without thinking. Sam, still sitting in the back eating a Twinkie (where the hell was he finding all this candy?) nearly choked at the force.

"What's wrong?" He demanded.

"There are warding sigils on the road, and all around this town." Cas clarified. "I cannot enter."

"We'll just smash a few." Dean shrugged.

"You misunderstand." Cas responded, giving Dean a slightly disappointed look. "There are too many. It would take many people to break these, and they are… more complicated than the ones we have previously encountered."

"Dean, this is the last hole we know about, and if Bobby is right, it looks like they've got hundreds of people here, whole town maybe." Sam looked at Cas, "Could this be the big one? Are they trying to protect it?"

"Yes." Cas nodded, and Dean let out a huff of air.

"Look, We can't close this thing without you, so we're going to have to break the sigils anyway."

"It will take time. Time we do not have right now. You must go to the boy."

"I'm not going in there without backup!" Dean snapped. "You aren't fucking off and leaving me again."

* * *

Stiles was checking the salt supplies in the garage when a sleek black car pulled slowly into the street. He'd have remembered the car – and he could tell by the way Derek's head swung around from where he was filling his camaro with one of the drums that he didn't know who they were. Stiles was instantly alert.

The car pulled up to the side of the house and two men got out. They looked… normal enough, but Stiles had learned not to discount people on that score. He'd seen Criminal Minds, it was **_always_** the normal looking ones that were the serial killers.

As they got closer, Stiles could make out a few things clearer. The tall one with the long hair walked smoothly, while the shorter one walked like he had a grudge against the ground he stomped on. They were pretty good-looking, the shorter one especially – and he wondered which one Lydia would bat her eyelashes at first.

"Hey, Kid." The angry blond called over, voice radiating an internalised rage. Derek put the drum down and stood, watching them both like a coil ready to snap. Stiles knew that if they got too close, he'd leap.

"Hi. Hello!" Stiles burst out. "You must be new here, are you new here? Nice car, by the way." He nodded to the chevy. "Did you manage to get gas before you arrived? We haven't got any spare, sorry – if you want gas you'll need to find it somewhere else."

"Kid, we're looking for Stiles." Angry dude replied, giving Derek an appraising look. Stiles got the feeling he was sizing him up for a fight, which was what he really didn't need. "Bobby sent us."

"You're the Winchesters!" Stiles burst out, relief washing over him in waves. "Okay, that's **_great_**! I'm Stiles, this is Derek, and Danny is in the basement and there are hellhounds, and we think that demons are taking people." Stiles said, mind running overtime. "If you can just get this Marbas thing out of Danny, then we can take you to the hounds and you can kill them, and the-"

"Woah! Woah!" Tall Winchester said, holding up his hands. "Slow down a second. Did you say **_Hellhounds_**?"

Stiles paused from walking up the drive and turned. "Bobby said you'd dealt with them before." Derek was still standing by the car, looking like he was having a glare off with Angry Winchester. "He said you'd be able to help us."

"Well, yeah, but Hellhounds aren't… you can't really kill them unless you can blow them up, and that tends to just piss em off most of the time." His voice was warm and honest sounding, but his words were not what Stiles wanted to hear.

"He said you could help us."

"With Demons, kid." Angry Winchester said. "Hounds… no. Never again." Stiles could see from the shadow that passed over his face that something terrible had happened to him.

"Look," Tall Winchester said. "Let's just go inside and talk about what is going on here." He smiled at Stiles. "Bobby mentioned something about a werewolf problem?"

"No!" Stiles half yelled. "No werewolf problem at all. **_At all_**. All good here on the fluffy puppy front."

* * *

The guy in the leather jacket and the designer stubble was pissing Dean off something fierce. They were sitting in the kitchen, well… Sam was sitting, looking at the map that was spread out over the table, listening to the kid, who was fluttering around them. It was getting on Deans nerves. He never shut up, and Sam, **_Sam_** was in some kind of geek love at first sight. He was standing. Guy in leather was standing.

"So you've marked off all the houses that people were taken from, and the houses where people left." He asked, trying to see some pattern on the map.

"Yeah. The orange dots are the hounds, we've marked out the routes they are using to keep people from leaving at night."

"How'd you manage to work that out?" Sam asked, looking impressed. "You can't see them."

"Scent." The kid shrugged. "We had Boyd and Isaac go out there during the day and map out where the hounds had been. Looks like a parameter."

"Your right." Sam nodded, looking back at the map. Dean looked up, and sure enough, the dude in leather was glaring at him. He glared back. No way this guy was about to try an intimidate him. He could stare down an **_Angel_** – he wasn't impressed with this designer douche. "We think there is a hole to hell around here somewhere." Sam replied. "We've been going across country, shutting them down, and this is the last one. The only problem is, we don't know where it is – and we can't close it without our friend."

"Call them, then." The hyperactive kid replied before Sam had even finished talking. "You can have my phone. It's got enough credit – or Derek's." He glanced up at 'Derek' and nodded. "Derek, give him your phone. And stop staring at each other, I'm going to get jealous. You can do the whole 'I'm the Alpha' thing later when we don't need them to help **_Danny_**."

"Alpha?" Dean asked, shooting the kid a look. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Um, Derek. He's the Alpha?" The kid responded like there wasn't a fucking killer in his kitchen. "This is his place we're crashing in. It was the only street that wasn't wreaked with the mobs and demons cause the rest of the pack stick pretty close."

"He's a fucking werewolf?" Dean roared, looking about the kitchen. He'd left all his weapons in the car, but he was sure he'd be able to put something together in a **_kitchen_**.

"Well… yeah." The kid replied, and his tone made Dean stop for a moment. That wasn't the sound of someone scared for their life. That was, in fact, a slightly unimpressed 'duh'. Dean didn't like slightly unimpressed teenagers looking down their noses at him. "He's a werewolf. He's also a terrible cook." The kid added. "And Scott is a werewolf, and Isaac, Boyd and Erica too. You can kill Peter if you want, I'm **_totally_** okay with you killing Peter."

"No one is killing Peter." A female voice said from behind him, and a tiny little redhead swanned into the kitchen. "I've already told you to let that g-" she paused, looking at him, and then at Sam, and gave them both a lightening bright smile. "I'm Lydia Martin, and **_you_** are?"

"Dean," He grinned back, forgetting for a moment that he was about to gank a werewolf. "That's my brother Sam."

"Well, **_Dean_**, I'm pointing out right now that no one is killing Peter." She smiled again and flicked her hair at the pale kid who was pulling a face like he'd swallowed a wasp. "Erica called. Her parents had a little trouble, but they've arrived at her aunts farm. She's still pissed they left."

"Jackson?"

"Still pissed at everyone." She shrugged, before her eyes flicked over him again. He grinned. Normally that would have gotten her number – or more – but she just smirked back. "I don't date guys who smile at me like I'm a waitress in a greasy spoon."

* * *

"Here they come again." Danny laughed at them as Stiles opened the door to the basement and started down the wooden stairs. "Come to try and talk to your friend." His voice was rough, probably all the screaming that he'd been doing for days – trying to get their attention, or just drive them mad.

"Hey Danny." He sighed. "We're just here to try again."

Behind him, he could hear Dean Winchester – who slightly intimidated him – and Sam (whom he already was half in love with) follow. "We've brought some help."

"You'll need more than help." Danny laughed, "When I get out of here I'm going to rip you open. I'm going to make you beg like a child."

"You know, you aint the first demon we've heard say that." Dean responded, walking into the room and grinning at Danny.

"Variations on a theme." Sam said, standing by his brother. Stiles had to admit, they looked a little freaky with those intent expressions on their faces.

"And you are?" Danny grinned, not even looking like Danny at all anymore. That smile was wild and feral, not warm and honest like Danny was.

"You'd think they'd know us by now." Dean said, smiling intently. "After all, Sammy here is the chosen vessel."

Danny seemed to freeze for a moment, like he'd been paused in time. "Then you must be the Righteous Man." He said, after a moment or two. "The famous Dean Winchester. Alistair's greatest apprentice."

"One and the same."

"Where is your Angel now, Winchester?" Danny grinned evilly. "No one will lift you out of hell this time. Not when I get my hands on you."

Stiles watched as Sam leaned over and pulled Danny's arm, turning it over until he saw something that made him smile. "Did you think you could lock yourself in this kid?" He smirked. "We've seen this before. Old news."

Danny's expression didn't change, but Stiles could see that he wasn't as sure of himself as he'd been before he knew who the brothers were. Although half of their conversation was going right over the top of his head, he knew that something important was going on.

"I'll take the host with me." Danny said, suddenly. Stiles could hear the panic. Just how bad were these guys if a Duke of Hell was scared of them?

"No, you won't." Dean grinned. He turned to Stiles and nodded towards the door. "You don't want to be here for this, kid." He said, and for once, Stiles didn't feel like arguing. They looked intent and dangerous, and Stiles wondered if he'd done the best thing, involving them in this mess.

* * *

Stiles was using a wallpaper scraper to scratch the paint off the symbols Sam had shown him – Isaac and Boyd doing the same on the other side of the road. They'd been working for hours while the Winchester brothers tried to get Danny freed from whatever was inside of him. Once it was done, he noticed another on the road and walked towards it, trying not to think about what was going on in the basement. He didn't see the guy standing there until he walked right into him.

For a moment, Stiles thought that he'd walked into a demon, the way he stood there like a rock, watching Stiles as he picked himself up from the ground.

"Are you Stiles?" The man asked, voice much deeper than Stiles expected from a guy not that much bigger than him.

"What are you?" He asked, not sure if he wanted to tell a demon his name.

"I am Castiel and I am an Angel of the Lord." He intoned. "And I require that you tell me where Dean Winchester is."

"I'm pretty sure you aren't an angel." Stiles shot back. Angels had wings, halos. They didn't stand in the middle of the street in a suit and trench coat. "I'm not telling you anything."

The man looked at him for too long, and Stiles felt like he was looking into his very soul, which was probably the worst thing he'd ever encountered in his life. Finally, he pulled out a mobile phone from his pocket and looked at it with distaste. He pressed a single button – whoever he was calling was on speed-dial – and held the phone an inch from his face like it smelt bad.

"Dean, I am inside the town." He said, and Stiles couldn't quite make out the response, only that it was loud. "Where are y-" He started, only to be cut off by whatever Dean (if it **_was_** Dean) was saying. Then – between Stiles blinking his eyes – he was gone.

Stiles looked over at Isaac and Boyd who were running over to him and shrugged. "I think he said he was an Angel." Was all he managed to say, weakly.

* * *

**_Oh dear sweet mother of all that is holy, this was the hardest chapter I've written so far. I was worried that I'd have a hard time working between characters once they met up, and I was right. _**

**_Oh, I think I saw where I went wrong, and I'm going to try a different method tomorrow – perhaps not shifting characters so often, or isolating pairs off for easier dialogue._**

**_Keeping Stiles, Dean and Sam in the same room is hellish to write! They are all lead characters to me, and they all demand more space on the page._**

**_I hope I didn't break any brains today, and I hope you enjoyed it. Let me know what you think I'm doing wrong/right in the comments so I can try to make reading this more enjoyable than writing it!_**


	10. Chapter 10

Dean sat in the kitchen with the hyper kid and Cas, who was happily (or as happily as anyone could) spooning the leftover take out into plastic tuperwear. He'd not even **_asked_** Cas to go get something to eat, although Sam still gave him that constipated look when the Angel showed up with his arms full of plastic bags and a thoughtful expression.

"What you get?" Dean had asked, ignoring Sam.

"I had planned on trying Mongolian dishes, but Sam complained about mutton." He replied, and Dean couldn't help throwing Sam a pissed look. If the Angel wanted to eat something, you didn't get picky about what it was, you just smiled and **_ate_** it. "I have decided to explore Vegan foods." At **_that_**, Sam winced. Dean was going to **_kill_** his brother.

All in all, Dean thought, as he watched the pale kid 'help' Cas, it wasn't all that bad. "Would have been better with a little meat." He said, "But that wasn't too bad, Cas." He paused. "Sam was just being a bitch about the mutton though, if you want to try it, you get it next time."

"So, where did you get this?" Stiles asked him, waving a hand over the dishes. "I've never seen my dad eat so many vegetables in his life without complaining. He's got a bad heart, you know? I try to keep him eating good stuff, but he complains." He didn't seem to pause for breath as he talked. "There isn't anywhere in town that sells vegan food, and I'd know, because I know **_every_** place that sells food here. I could pretty much eat-" His voice carried on, talking to Cas without stopping. He'd been watching the Angel all night, ever since they'd gotten him to carry the boy – Danny – up to his room where he could try to get over the fact he'd been worn like a prom dress by a Duke of Hell.

Cas was listening intently to the kid, like he listened to everything – like it was the most important thing in the world. Leaning back in the chair, he let the sounds of the house wash over him, forgetting for a moment that they were here for a job.

"I found a small restaurant in Rome tha-"

"You went to **_Rome_** for our dinner?" The kid burst out, shattering Deans calm like a glass. "**_Rome_**?" He repeated, ignoring Deans glare. "What kind of person goes to Rome for take-out?"

"Quit pestering him." Dean said, giving Cas a shrug. "If you want to go to Rome to get food, go to Rome."

"Thank you, Dean." Cas replied, and Dean had the distinct impression that his tone was trying to convey that he didn't need **_his_** permission to go anywhere. "I will keep that in mind."

* * *

Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed, patting down his pockets and coming up with nothing. He had developed a sweet tooth and was coming down off a sugar high – it seemed like he was always going to be addicted to **_something_** – and his pockets remained candy-less. The teenage boy was sleeping, so far he'd not woken up since they'd pulled Marbas out of him, and Sam wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He probably needed to rest.

He patted down his pockets absentmindedly again, frowning when he found nothing.

"Whatcha lookin' for, Sammich?" A dry voice said from directly behind him. Sam turned on his hip to see Gabriel standing there wearing…

"What the **_hell_** are you wearing?" Sam asked. "Are those **_my_** jeans?" The Angel was wearing the same clothes that Sam had been shot in, clean and well pressed, but far too large for the Trickster, who looked like he was playing dress-up in his dad's clothes. The jeans were trailing on the ground and the shirt sleeves were covering his hands completely.

"Yup." He smirked, pulling out a packet of taffy from **_somewhere_** and handing it to Sam. "I'm going to a party dressed like my boyfriend. It's _soooo_ romantic."

Sam snorted as he took the offered bag, popping a piece into his mouth. "M'not your boyfriend." He said – or tried to say, his teeth effectively glued together with the candy – and watched with a smile as Gabriel clutched at his heart with a hurt expression.

"You wound me." He gasped. "After I went and **_died_** for you and everything. You have no heart, BFG."

"I don't know if I should be insulted or flattered by that comparison." He admitted, after managing to work his teeth apart. "The BFG was kinda cool."

"Who is the boy in your bed?" Gabriel asked, looking over at Danny. "I should warn you, I'm a jealous lover."

"His name is Danny, and he's in High School." Sam frowned. "And **_we_**," He pointed to Gabriel and himself, "Are not **_together_**."

"Oh, you like em younger?" Gabriel sulked, ignoring the parts of the conversation he didn't want to hear. "I'm hurt. And slightly amused."

"**_He's_** not my boyfriend either." Sam rolled his eyes. "He's just had a demon pulled out of him and he's resting."

"Did I miss you being heroic?" Gabriel gasped. "Say it aint so, Sammy!"

"You missed Dean being heroic." He grinned. "Kind of. He got thrown about a little before Cas showed up."

"Why is it always the baby brother who gets the glory? I could smite a few things for you, Sammich-baby, if you'd just let me."

"I'm a little worried what it would cost me." He grinned, looking back at the kid on the bed. Under his tan, he looked pale – Sam thought when he was awake he probably looked like a poster boy for good health and clean living.

"Oh, you know." Gabriel said, leaning forward and pulling on his hair. "The usual. Sex, devotion, foot rubs."

"I'm going **_nowhere_** near your feet." Sam grimaced.

"But the rest is a go?" Gabriel shot back. "I'll hold you to that." Sam snapped his head around, but the Angel was already gone.

"I'm not sleeping with you either." He told the space where Gabriel had been standing.

* * *

"I do not like kale."

"No one likes kale, Cas." Dean sighed. "It's not even a real food."

"It is a cabbage."

"Which is **_also_** not real food." He said in way of a reply. After a few moments, he shrugged. "The kid seems to like you."

"He is waiting to ask me about heaven." Cas responded. "His mother died when he was younger and he wishes to know if she is happy."

"Is she?"

"Yes." Cas said simply. "It is heaven. People are happy there."

"Do you miss it?" Dean asked, walking without looking at the Angel by his side. He hated that he'd even asked, because he didn't want to remind him about all the things he was missing, heaven was his home.

"I return often." Cas said after a long while. "When you sleep sometimes, when you shower – but it is no longer where I belong."

"What are you talking about? You're an Angel, it's your home."

"My brothers and sisters distrust me. They fear that I am… too human. I had fallen, and I was restored." He looked at Dean. "They believe that my restoration was not God's work, but Lucifer's."

"Well, that is utter bullshit." Dean snapped. "Lucifer hated you just as much as he hated anyone."

"Only an Archangel could have restored me, or God. Michael would not, and I have made many enemies amongst that rank." He paused. "It does not help the fear my siblings have of me."

Dean looked at Cas and felt guilt wash over him in a wave. It was his fault, really. Oh, he could blame Sam for starting the end of the world, but he knew Cas was falling before then – when he was showing them how to stop the seals from opening. The length of time he would spend with them wasn't necessary. Showing up in Dean's dreams sure as hell wasn't required – and lately he hoped to hell the Angel was staying far away from his head as he was sleeping, because he'd rather burn in hell for the rest of eternity than have the Angel see what his subconscious was dreaming up about him.

"I'm sorry your family are dicks." He replied, hoping that the Angel would see the apology for what it was. Dean sucked at chick stuff. He sucked at a lot of things, and one of them was apologising to his Angel.

* * *

Stiles found Derek in the basement, cleaning. It seemed… strange to see him doing something so normal, but then he saw the blood on the floor, spray up the walls.

"Is this Danny's blood?" He whispered, not even wanting to say the words aloud. Derek looked up and shook his head.

"No, the short one." He shrugged.

"That's a lot of blood." Stiles commented, picking up the bottle of bleach spray and starting on the nearest wall. "Too much for him to be out on patrol."

"He's fine." Derek shrugged, scrubbing at the floor.

About half an hour later, the place looked slightly cleaner – as clean as a basement was going to look at least – and Derek finally spoke again.

"I don't trust them."

Stiles expected as much. Trust was a huge thing for Derek, and he'd not only had to welcome (although not very **_welcomingly_**) the Argent's into his house, he'd also had to bring in two new hunters. Who were – as far as Stiles could see – a much scarier pair of people than Chris (or even **_Gerard_**) could be.

"I don't trust them either." Stiles admitted. "But they did get that demon out of Danny."

"We don't know that though!" Derek snapped. "He's not woken up yet. He's still out of it." Angry Derek was something that Stiles had a lot of experience with. This was frustrated Derek, and it wasn't the same thing. He had no idea what to say. "I don't like the way that he looks at you."

"Who?" Stiles asked, not sure where that sentence came from.

"The short one. He looks at you like he wants to hit you."

"I think he looks at everyone without a trench coat like that, Derek." Stiles shrugged.

"And that 'Angel' seems… odd."

Stiles had noticed that too. He ate like he was performing a great task – it was hard to watch him chew, Stiles was sure he was counting each bite to ensure that he was doing it 'properly'. The two hunters hadn't noticed, and he wondered if that was just habit. Every now and then though, Dean – the one Derek didn't like – would learn forward and either side more food over to him, or steal something off his plate.

"I probably wouldn't mention that to Dean." Stiles hedged. "I think he's got a temper, and if you piss off the Angel I'm not sure what he'd do."

"I could take him in a fight." Derek said, looking down his nose at Stiles, who snorted in response.

"Yes, you are the big bad alpha, and I **_fear_** you. But I'm pretty sure if you hurt Dean, his Angel boyfriend would kick your ass from one side of the planet to the other without breaking a sweat. Dude – he went to **_Rome_** to get **_take-out_**. Rome!"

"You like the tall one."

"Sam? Sam is **_awesome_**, Derek. He's cool and smart and-" He gave a fake dramatic swoon. "Built like a barn. He's got nicer hair than Lydia." He added as an afterthought. Derek glared.

"When did you decide that Lydia wasn't the sun and stars?"

"Since she basically told me that her gay-dar cried every time I tried to hit on her." He shrugged. "It was kind of depressing to be told you liked boys before you'd actually figured it out yourself, you know?" He laughed. "And I'm not Danny's type, so… You think I have a chance with Tall, Buff and Broad?"

"He's in his thirties at least." Derek snapped. "You're 17. I don't think he's into children."

Stiles tried to hide the fact that he felt like he'd just been slapped in the face. He knew that Derek didn't really think of him in **_that_** way, in the _take-me-against-the-wall-my-body-is-ready_ kind of way, but to be told that he ranked on a level of 'child' in his eyes was hurtful. He'd just basically come out to a guy that he'd been pretending not to crush on for the better part of a year, and… he thought he was a **_child_**. How was this his life?

"Well, you know… I'm not." He grinned brightly. "A child."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know what you meant." Stiles said, turning towards the stairs. "You're going out with Dad and one of the Argent guys in an hour." He added. "You might want to get ready, take a shower or something."

"Stiles," Derek said, but Stiles didn't give him any room to make it worse.

"Derek, you have an hour. It's probably a good idea to get ready."

* * *

Stiles wasn't sure what to do with the bedrooms. Danny was still sleeping in Derek's room on the bed that his dad had been using, and Mr and Mrs Martin refused to share the small room down the hall with anyone but Lydia, so that was out. The Argents were in Isaac's room and none of the wolves were going to sleep there – and Dean hadn't really hit it off with the hunters like Stiles had expected.

He stood in the hallway and looked blankly ahead as his mind was filled with a million different things. Did Angels sleep? Were they hoping to get a room on their own? How tall **_was_** Sam? Would a sleeping bag fit him? Where would his dad sleep now that Danny was in his bed?

"You okay kid?" a voice he didn't recognise asked him. Spinning around, Stile came face to face with a guy he'd never met in his life. He couldn't help the full body flail that happened as he stepped back too quickly, pulling back with a stuttered 'woah!' as he tried to regain his balance. The guy quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Loki." Was the reply he got, and Stiles found his lips moving of their own accord.

"Yeah, you look just like him too. No hat? Capeless? Didst thou mother **_finally_** find out thou warest her drapes? You look nothing like Loki. He got a horse pregnant you know." He heard himself say, before **_finally_** being able to shut his mouth.

"I like your style." The guy smirked – holding out an open bag of skittles. "Taste the Asguardian rainbow."

Stiles grabbed a handful and stuffed them all into his mouth.

"Really Loki?" He asked, trying not to drool coloured spit everywhere.

"Nah. Gabriel. Call me Gabe, no one does." He poured the contents of the bag into his mouth. Stiles respected a man who could do that with a share size. Showed great character.

"Why you here?" He said, around his own candy filled mouth. He remembered dimly that he should be screaming for help.

"Keeping an eye on my Sammquatch. We're in love." The other guy mumbled with his mouth full. "He doesn't know it yet."

"Sam Winchester?"

"Yup."

"Disappointed."

"I know. Abs of steal. You could bounce a quarter off that ass. I plan on finding out if that is actually true." Gabe smirked. "If he can get past the whole 'you killed my brother a hundred and fourteen times' thing."

"S'a lot of times." Stiles said, grinning when Gabe threw another bag of Skittles at his face. "Thanks."

"I like a guy that can be bribed with candy."

"I like a guy that **_bribes_** with candy." Stiles shot back.

"Was there a reason you were standing in the hallway looking like you wanted to either burst into song or cry?" His new best friend in the world asked as Stiles ripped open the bag, pouring half into his hand and offering the rest to Gabe.

"Trying to work out where everyone is going to sleep." Stiles shrugged. "I'm worried Derek won't sleep in the same room as Dean, and I don't know if Dean expects to share with his boyfriend, and Sam looks like he's too tall for every bed and sleeping bag in the-"

"Woah, kid!" Gabe grinned, teeth brightly coloured. "Leave this to me. Now, did you say Deans **_boyfriend_**?"

"Yeah." Stiles nodded. "The Angel guy?"

"Stiles, you are my new favourite person." Gabe smirked. "I might even like you more than daytime TV."

* * *

**_Because I was actually pretty rushed off my feet today, I'm kind of pushing a shorter chapter out. I hope no one minds, but I try to write about 3k a day so you've got something to read! _**

**_I really enjoyed writing today, nothing like the stress of yesterday. I think keeping people quite slip up and limiting group dynamics is the easiest way of keeping track of each situation, because if you have Dean, Derek, Stiles, Sam, Gabriel and Cas in the same room as Chris, Isaac, Peter, Lydia, Boyd and the Sheriff... you're going to have a bad time writing it. _**

**_Thanks for all the great feedback, I really appreciate it! I know that crossovers aren't as popular as regular fanfics, but I feel like a wee superstar when I get comments!_**

**_Back up, bitch, I'm famous. _**


	11. Chapter 11

"What the fuck do you mean, you '**_forgot'_** to tell us that he was alive!" Dean roared. His face was a mask of pale rage, and Stiles got the feeling that he wasn't joking around.

"I mean I didn't want you to start."

"Start what?"

"**_This!_**"

The argument was taking place in the living room where Stiles and Gabe were sitting eating their way through a pile of food so large that Stiles jaw was starting to hurt from all the chewing. Or the laughing. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed so much in his life. Scott was out on 'patrol' with Alison most days now, or at the hospital, looking up at the windows to see if his mom would waved down to him, so Stiles was pretty much alone during the day. Unless you counted Derek.

Gabe – as he'd found out about a millisecond after Dean saw him on the couch – was the Archangel Gabriel. The one who'd told the Virgin Mary she was pregnant with God's son was currently watching Dean and Sam argue like it was prime time TV and Stiles couldn't help but agree.

"If they start throwing punches, Hermes, I'm bringing out the mud pool." He loved that nickname. Hermes, the constantly moving, hyperactive messenger. If the dude who knew GOD gave you a nickname, you went with it.

"Deal." Stiles grinned.

"You did not tell me." A deep voice said reproachfully behind them. Gabe turned his head and looked at the Angel in the trench coat and gave an apologetic smile.

"Well, baby bro, I was having a bit of trouble keeping my triumphant return from the great big bag of dicks upstairs," He started, before being cut off by Dean with an angry snort.

"So much for **_brothers_**." He spat, before stalking out of the room. Cas, who'd been silently judging Gabe, turned and walked after the angry hunter like he was connected to him by a string. Stiles wasn't sure that was a healthy relationship at all.

"You didn't help." Sam said, turning to Gabe, who shrugged.

"You didn't tell your brother about the books, or the map, or the candy, or the fact that I pulled a miracle out of the bag to save your ungrateful ass, so don't try to make this into **_my_** problem." Gabe grinned. "I think I might be hurt." He looked at Stiles, "Should I be hurt?"

"Probably." Stiles shrugged. "But you **_did_** kill his brother a hundred and 14 times, so…" He shrugged. "Ladies choice?"

Sam glared at them both as they dissolved into laughter. Stiles really, really liked Gabe. He was funny, understood that some people just… had it coming… and supplied him with more candy than a cos-player at Halloween. Gabe threw his arm around Stiles and grinned.

"Hermes, you are my new favourite. Let's run away together and live in a land of pure imagination."

"Will you turn me into a blueberry?"

"I swear on my… my… last Reeces cup in a pack of three, that I will **_never_** turn you into a blueberry."

"I've never heard anything so romantic in my entire life." Stiles swooned, or at least tried to swoon.

"I think having you two together might be the start of a new apocalypse." Sam muttered, before leaving them laughing on the couch high on sugar and inside jokes.

* * *

Dean was armed, this time with more than a loaded Angel. His shotgun was packed with rounds of rocksalt, and although the sheriff – the kids dad, it turned out – was against shooting people, he learned pretty quickly that a demon doesn't stop when you flash a badge.

Cas was doing his thing too, which was pretty neat if you hadn't seen it before – and it was raining too, so when he grabbed a demon by the head and used his Grace to rip it out of the host, lightning and water showed the outline and hint of two massive wings. Dean felt kind of proud when the guys they were with actually dropped to their knees when they saw them. Don't overlook the dude in the trenchcoat. He's packing some **_serious_** bad-assery in that titchy vessel.

"There is no hole here." Cas said, voice easily heard over the rain. "I see nothing. Only demons."

Fuck. That wasn't what Dean wanted to hear. Although closing a hole was always pretty fucking hard work, it was as straightforward as it came. Find the hole, break some seals, kill a few demons – have Cas plug it. Done.

"This woman isn't from Beacon Hills." The sheriff shouted over, rain obscuring his voice. He held something up, a wallet. "Her name is Lauren Jessop, she's from Portland."

Dean looked at the body of the woman. She had the look of someone dead for a lot longer than a few minutes. Probably the vessel had died not long after the demon hijacked her. Portland? What the hell was a Demon doing riding a corpse all the way from **_Portland_**?

* * *

Stiles was impressed, Derek could tell. Isaac's room didn't look anything like Isaac's room. It was huge, for a start. Huge, and was full of beds with canopy's and heavy curtains around them.

"Dude, you totally Tardis'd this mother." He grinned, looking at the 'angel' who'd shown up. Derek didn't trust anyone who could produce food from… wherever. "It's the Griffindor dorm room!" Stiles suddenly burst out. "Holy hell!"

Derek wasn't sure what they were talking about, but suddenly the conversation changed from 'How did you do this?' to 'What house are you in?' and Derek had no idea what to do. Stiles had been, for the better part of a year, the one who asked all the questions and put together the plans. Now he was completely accepting that this guy, Angel, **_whatever_**, was perfectly trustworthy. Derek didn't like it.

Saying that though, would probably make Stiles hate him more than he already did, and that wasn't going to happen. So he stood there and watched as Stiles and Gabe (or whatever he was called) walked around the room.

"I'm telling you, I'd be a **_great_** Seeker."

"Nah, Hermes, you're a catcher. I see it in your eyes."

That was another thing Derek hated. Hermes. It wasn't even Stiles **_name_**, but this guy insisted on calling him by it, and Stiles let him.

"Gabriel, I think this is a bit too much." Sam said from beside him, and Derek felt himself bristle. He didn't like Sam. Hell, he didn't like **_anyone_**, but especially someone who Stiles said was 'built like a barn' and thought he was good looking. "I don't think people would be comfortable sleeping here."

Derek sure as hell wasn't going to be sleeping there. Not with the curtains and the… it looked **_stupid_**.

"Sleep on the couch then, Samantha." Gabe shrugged. "Hermes and I can bunk together."

"No." Derek ground out at the same time Stiles laughed a "Sure!"

Derek **_really_** didn't like Gabriel.

* * *

"The demons are coming from all over." Dean said, looking at the map, Cas standing beside him. "We found id's from all over the country, and they're all coming here. It doesn't make sense."

He looked at Cas, expecting him to add something to the conversation, but he simply nodded in agreement. Never a good sign if the Angel didn't know what was happening. "Look, we'll get some sleep – and call Bobby in the morning, get some research going."

The room was…

"For fuck sake." Dean burst out, looking around. "Cas, do something about your brother." He hissed, looking at the tasselled curtains. "I'm not sleeping in here."

"I am not strong enough to **_force_** him to comply." Cas reminded him, eyes flickering over the room. "And he will not change his ways."

"He expects me to sleep in this?"

The kid, Stiles, was already in one of the over large beds, arguing about something with the tall, blond kid that Dean hadn't been introduced to. He was sitting on the same bed as the still unconscious Danny, looking like he was about to bunk there for the night.

"You can't!" Stiles was arguing. "He'll think I did it on purpose."

"I'm not sharing with him!" The blond argued. "And if Danny wakes up he'd freak out if it was Derek."

Dean rolled his eyes. He didn't give a shit about the sleeping arrangements of teenagers. What he cared about was **_his_** sleeping plans.

"I'm not sharing a bed with Sam." He hissed to Cas. "He's not changed since he was 5 years old and sleeps like a fucking windmill."

"Perhaps you can share with another." Cas said, looking around the room. Dean wondered if he was admiring the décor or the power that it took to make a place like this.

"I'm not sharing a bed with someone I don't even know." Dean pressed, thinking of the other people in the house. He'd have the option of the Hunters (Who he didn't trust at all, not with Sammy) or werewolves (not fucking likely) or… he looked at Cas. Cas who didn't sleep. "Tell the kid you're gonna bunk with me."

"I do not require sleep."

"That's the whole point." Dean explained. "You just… do whatever you do, and I can get some sleep without worrying I'm gonna get **_ganked_** in the middle of the night."

"You wish for me to lie."

"No." Dean rushed. He'd learned a while ago that if he was asked to lie, Cas got the worst pissy face ever. "I want you to tell the kid you'll bunk with me."

All in all, it could have been worse, he figured. Sam was sleeping with Gabriel – Dean was making a mental note to rib him for all eternity about that, especially since the Angel had been more than happy with the result.

"I'm sleeping with Dean." Sam had told the Archangel, panic in his eyes.

"Sorry, Sammy." Dean shrugged. "Cas told the kid he's bunking with me."

"He doesn't even **_sleep_**!"

"I know." He smirked. "More room for me."

"Dean, you can't do this to me!"

"Watch me." Payback was a bitch.

* * *

Sam was expecting Gabriel to be… well… horrible. He expected jokes and pokes and suggestive comments all night. He wasn't expecting him to simply roll over and go to sleep. Angels didn't sleep!

The best thing was though, after all Deans crowing over his sleeping arrangements, Castiel had actually sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard and took up as much space as a sleeping partner – much to his brothers annoyance.

The curtains were all pulled shut, giving the illusion of privacy – and muffling the sounds of conversation. He still knew when Castiel spoke, because his voice was so damn deep that it travelled, but wasn't able to make out what he was saying. If Dean replied, Sam didn't hear a thing.

It was actually a really nice arrangement.

* * *

Stiles had to share with Derek. Any other time, this would be the greatest thing **_ever_**, but after finding out that the Alpha thought of him as nothing more than a child, Stiles was pissed.

Derek was pissed too – not liking the room (which was so awesome Stiles was thinking about letting Gabe decorate his house from top to bottom) not liking the sleeping arrangements, and not liking a damn thing. It was like he'd been transported back to 'past Derek' and Stiles wasn't sure he liked it.

But… well, he was so much warmer than Stiles, and the bed was so comfortable after so long sleeping on the floor that keeping his eyes open wasn't really an option after a while. The muffled sound of voices couldn't quite reach through the thick curtains that he'd pulled shut, and all in all… Gabe might just be Stiles favourite person in the world. Next to Scott. He added hastily, before drifting off to sleep.

* * *

He was in hell. On the rack, screaming for help – then standing in front of it, hacking and slicing into his own skin, the taste of blood in his mouth and the sticky warmth covering his hands as he worked. Around him were screams, sounds of knives and the wet, thick sound of skin falling away. The more he cut, the better he felt, until he was looking at the destroyed body of a man he no longer recognised. As he watched, the corpse was made whole again, and the pain he had inflicted on his bound body transferred to him until he was no longer a man, but a burning fire in the pit.

Then, when his anger and pain could no longer be called human, he felt the touch of a hand on his shoulder. Burning hotter than the fire around him, burning to the soul he no longer thought he had. "Dean Winchester is saved." A voice throbbed through his body, and suddenly he was in the shower, washing blood and skin away with shaking hands. On his back though, the sure touch of someone who knew what they were doing, sliding over his bloody skin until the water ran clear and tears no longer streaked on his face.

When those sure hands moved over his skin with a different intent, Dean **_knew_** he was dreaming. He hated these dreams. Lucid enough to know what was going on, but still trapped in sleep – he felt his Angel press against his back, one hand pressed against the burn on his shoulder and the other pushing a finger into his ass, opening him up. He knew it was a dream. Knew that even the water from the shower wasn't going to be enough lubrication, or that he'd need a hell of a lot more prep before – he groaned as Cas pushed the head of his cock inside, sliding in with ease until all Dean could feel was need, until his Angel was buried deep and their bodies were unable to get closer.

He hated these dreams. They were needy and hot, with desperate hands and a wicked mouth that Dean knew his Angel didn't have. He heard the voice, deep, **_urgent_**, his name on angelic lips…

His dream shifted again, and this time they were in a motel room, Dean covering his Angels body with his own, hands able to roam, able to work Cas free of that poly suit that seemed to be the only thing he owned. His hands pulled at the white shirt, tie already off – as Dean sucked a bruise into the skin of Cas' neck, marking him.

It took longer to free his Angel from his clothes, but Dean was enjoying this part of the dream – enjoying the sound of his name on Cas' lips, the fact that for once, **_he_** was in control.

Cas said his name like a fucking prayer as Dean finally managed to get his hands on warm, pale skin – pulling the white shirt off completely. "Dean," Cas said, but his voice too far away – and Dean felt himself smile as he ran his hands, rough and calloused, over the perfect, pale skin. He followed his hands with his mouth, sucking bruises that marked the man under him as belonging to Dean Winchester.

He **_never_** got to do this, never had a dream where Cas was willing to let Dean dominate – and he was going to make the most of it. He pulled his body up, claiming the Angel with a kiss that he'd never be able to give him when awake, pouring everything into it, his guilt, forgiveness, hope and need. Under him, Cas rocked, hands suddenly everywhere all at once, pulling his hair, grabbing his shoulders – pushing and pulling with equal force.

Dean smiled into the kiss, bringing one hand up to fist in the Angels dark hair while he pushed the other down until his fingers found the stupid clasp that covered the zipper of the Angels pants. He didn't even bother trying to get the pants down, just pulling the zipper far enough down so he could get his hand to cover the erection that had been pressing hard into his hip.

As soon as he touched Cas, the Angel stuttered to a halt – mouth no longer working, body so still that Dean wondered if he'd hurt him somehow. It wasn't normal – Cas in his dreams knew what he was doing…

Dean pulled back, or as much as he could with Cas hand grabbing the back of his head, and looked at the Angel under him.

"Cas, come on." He said, voice wrecked. He didn't understand…

"Dean," Cas voice ran through him like molten lava. His eyes were huge, pupils blown in the half darkness. "Dean, please." His Angel said, "Stop."

"Why?" He grinned, leaning forward and pulling on Cas' lip with his teeth gently. He could feel the Angel under him respond, the slight buck of hips, the warm huff of air filling his mouth. "Come on." He urged again, rolling his hips into the Angels. He wasn't enjoying his dream any longer. Too many things were… wrong.

When it hit him, it hit him like a truck doing 90 on the freeway, slamming into him and knocking all the air of his lungs in one go.

He wasn't dreaming.

* * *

When Sam woke up, he was the big spoon, and Gabriel was tracing shapes into the arm that Sam had thrown over him in the night. He was still clothed, thank God, and didn't immediately pull away.

"This is nice, Sammich." Gabriel said, and Sam just knew he had on that shit eating grin by the tone of his voice. "We should do this more often."

"You killed my brother."

"Are you ever going to let that go? It's not like Dean can **_stay_** dead." The Trickster added. "I mean, how many times has he died now?"

Sam pulled away, rolling onto his back before sitting up. "Thanks for reminding me." He responded, dryly. "Just what I needed to wake up to."

"I was going to make you breakfast."

"Gabriel, you **_know_** I'm not interested in guys, right?" Sam asked, trying not to sound like a total fucking douche.

"I'm not a guy."

"Yeah, Gabe, you kinda **_are_**." Sam smiled, looking over the Angel meaningfully. Gabriel shot him a hurt look, quickly masked by another grin.

"Well, Samantha, don't get your panties in a twist." The Archangel shrugged. "If you don't want a me to touch you in your naughty places, I won't." He grinned, and with a click of his fingers, he was gone.

Sam dressed, noticing that his brothers bed was the only one with the curtains pulled open, bed made. Everyone else was obviously making the most of Gabriel's gift of a good night's sleep.

Dean wasn't in the house, but Castiel was, standing in the kitchen looking at the appliances like they were from another planet. Sam figured he'd never needed to use them before. Something seemed slightly… off… about the scene. Like something was missing, or out of place.

"Were you thinking of making breakfast?" He asked, opening the fridge and looking at what was there.

"Gabriel was going to make it." Castiel said. "But now he is gone."

Sam didn't feel guilty. He **_didn't_**. It wasn't his fault that Gabriel decided to make him into something he wasn't. He wasn't in to guys.

"Won't Dean help you?" Sam asked, before his brain caught up with what he was actually seeing. "Castiel, are you… okay?" He asked, looking at the Angel for the first time. All the little things that had been niggling at the back of his mind were suddenly very clear.

The Angel, who hadn't changed at all in the time that Sam had known him – looked… undone. He **_was_** undone, in fact, tie off and the first three buttons of his shirt popped open. On anyone else it would have looked like he'd come home from a rough day at the office. On Castiel, it looked almost obscene. Dean would have a fit if his Angel looked… like he'd had someone's hands in his hair.

"I am well." Castiel replied, not quite making eye contact, which was raising more alarm bells in Sam's head than the hickie on his – wait... huh?

"Cas, what the hell happened to you?" Sam asked, leaning forward and trying not to notice the trail of fading bruises on the Angels skin as he carefully buttoned his shirt up correctly. The Angel pulled back, as though Sam's touch was something he couldn't even stand – he'd thought they'd gotten past that whole demon blood thing – and glared.

"My name is **_Castiel_**." He snapped, before disappearing.

What the fuck was wrong with Angels this morning?

* * *

When Stiles woke up, he was the little spoon, and the heat radiating off of Derek's body must have caused him to kick off his pyjamas in the night – something he normally did. Only normally, he was alone when he woke up naked in bed. He sure as hell didn't have his ass pressed into Derek Hales crotch. When the Alpha woke up he was going to be **_pissed_**.

He had two options, he could try to free himself from the iron-like hold that Derek had locked him into, or he could pretend to be asleep until the wolf woke up and removed himself. He was **_really_** glad he was wearing underwear. Although, admittedly, the thin cotton wasn't doing a damn thing to hide his morning wood.

God, what a great time to suddenly realise that you're a full blown, completely homosexual male – almost naked in bed with a guy whom you have an unhealthy obsession with and who has not only threatened to kill you several times, but probably **_could_**. He was too busy arguing with his body, which was totally okay with turning the normal half-mast morning glory into something that could be used to cut diamond, to think about anything else. Jesus, Derek was going to kill him. He **_knew_** he should have made Isaac sleep with the Alpha.

"Breakfast?" The obviously-not-as-asleep-as-Stiles-thought Alpha asked, pulling away from him like he could hear the panicked voices in his head.

"I'm pretty sure Gabe said he was going to make it." Stiles shrugged, not turning his head. "I'm making the most of not being the one who had to make the food for a change."

"You don't have to make the food."

"Yeah? Who else does it if I don't?" Stiles countered. He refused to turn around. He was sure his cock was turning into a heat seeking missile just listening to Derek talk. About breakfast. Which was in no way to do with sex.

"I didn't mean to invade your space." Derek said, cutting over Stiles panicked train of thought like a hot knife through butter. "I shouldn't have touched you."

"Jesus, Derek, you sound like a pervy old man." Stiles found himself laughing out of sheer nerves. "Look, can we just overlooking this whole thing? You woke up spooning with a gay guy who has a crush on you. Can you have your freak out later. Preferably when I've got more clothes on?"

It wasn't until Derek was out of bed and closing the door behind him that Stiles realised he'd just admitted to having a crush on Derek. To **_Derek_**.

Great.

* * *

_**I got to write some smut today, I'm so happy! If there is one thing I love, tiz the smut. **_

_**Now, I have a little headcannon with Dean. Who is (at least in his own mind) NOT GAY. My idea is that in NO WAY would Dean be the one to make the first move – if sober, drunk Dean is not so careful – and Castiel wouldn't do anything that Dean didn't come right out and say 'this is what I want' so…**_

_**Dean who is either very drunk or thinks he's sleeping, is the only way that he'd ever try to get into the Angels underwear. Once the damn is broken though… good times for all. **_

_**I love Gabe. I love him. I'm sorry, I know he's not IC – but in every FF I've ever read he's been this awesome flirty sexy beast and I just love that with his character. **_

_**Also, no one seems to mind that he's just a little OOC, so I'm not too worried for the SPN flames! People are so nice I might actually DIE!**_

_**(EDIT: FF ate my page breaks! Thanks Amanda for letting me know!)  
**_


	12. Chapter 12

Dean gripped the steering wheel tightly as he drove too fast through the small town of Beacon Hills. His mind was trying to ignore what he'd done, but he kept going back to it like the fucking masochist he was.

He tried to blame Cas, because… well, because it was easier to blame the Angel than it was to face up to the fact that he'd… he'd…

"Fuck." He spat out. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, **_fuck_**!" He yelled, hitting the steering wheel with each word. It wasn't the Angels fault. He probably didn't have a fucking clue what was going on, and Dean knew that he'd told him to stop. He'd molested an Angel. He knew that there was a lot of shit he'd done in his life, but he was pretty sure that trying to fuck Cas was the worst thing he'd ever done.

Sure, there was Anna, but she wasn't technically an Angel when they'd slept together – and he knew that she used him as her last chance human bid before deciding to take her Grace back.

Cas was probably confused. Dean knew the Angel wasn't exactly up on the reactions of his vessel so if something felt good he'd probably not understand… He'd been hard. God – Dean had his hand on another guys junk.

He was straight. Dreams didn't count. Dr Sexy didn't count either, because he was fake. Dean was straight. Like an arrow.

Jesus, he'd had his hand on another guys **_junk_**. On an Angels… Jesus. He was going back to hell. Cas would probably just leave him there this time. Fuck.

**_Fuck_**.

He'd liked it.

* * *

Sam stood in the kitchen and looked around. Everyone was eating, piles of food that had just appeared out of nowhere, stacks of pancakes and mountains of bacon – fried eggs still warm from the griddle and toast with the butter melting just right.

When Stiles had come down, he'd seemed surprised. "I thought Gabe was gonna make breakfast?" He asked, looking around. Almost as soon as the words came out of his lips, Sam could smell the food. Gabriel was sitting at the head of the table, grinning.

"Well, Hermes, tuck in."

Sam looked around. The table was surrounded by people. Some of them he'd met, some he'd not. The red-headed girl was eating daintily beside an older man who Sam suspected wasn't her father – judging by the slightly veiled comments he was making. She didn't seem to mind, or notice.

The other hunters were eating too – the older man (Chris) and his crew. His daughter was sitting beside one of the werewolves, and he didn't look too happy about that.

In fact, the only people who looked like they were having a good time were Stiles and Gabriel.

The Archangel hadn't spoken to him since he'd returned from wherever he went after their chat that morning, and seemed more than happy just to forget that it ever happened. By ignoring him.

The Alpha wolf, Derek, was standing at the other side of the room eating from a plate in his hand and talking to two of his pack. The blond boy – who Sam thought might be dating the sleeping Danny – and Boyd, who Sam had been on patrol with last night. He was dating another wolf called Erica, who was staying at her aunts on a farm somewhere in the middle of nowhere to keep her family safe.

From what he'd told Sam, the hunters here weren't the type of people you wanted to hang around. Their leader had been a man called Gerard who had tortured Boyd and Erica – and then beat the living hell out of Stiles, who was just a regular human. Sam didn't like the idea of a pack of werewolves running about, but he wasn't too happy with a bunch of hunters torturing kids either.

Boyd had told him that Derek had been the Alpha for a year, that he had perfect control over his wolf, but sucked at communication. He also mentioned that Derek had told them to keep an eye on Stiles when he was around the hunters. He didn't want a human under his care being harmed.

Sam had no clue what was going on with the redhead though. She seemed to be important to the pack, but separate as well – spending all her time with the older, slightly sleazy guy. Who may also be a werewolf. Sam wasn't sure.

There were too many people, but two were missing. It wasn't like Dean to miss a meal – and Castiel still hadn't shown up after his sudden disappearance that morning.

* * *

Stiles was having a great time. Gabe was **_awesome_**. Not only was he a freaking **_Angel_**, he was funny, could produce food at the drop of a hat and had no shame when it came to getting what he wanted.

"You put them in an episode of Dr Sexy?" Stiles laughed, sitting on the roof of the local bank. Gabe had suggested they go get some air and keep an eye on things from a good vantage point – and had teleported Stiles to the roof. Teleported. Stiles was having the time of his life. "That is the coolest thing ever. Did they like it?"

"Dean got shot." Gabe shrugged.

"You seem to enjoy killing him." Stiles pointed out. He was a little worried about that.

"Yeah, every time I do it, Cassy-boo gets this pissy face." Gabe shrugged. "And it's not like Dean-o can stay dead. You know how many times he's been killed since his dad left them on his little revenge trip?" Gabe frowned. "Not including the hundred and 14 times I'm responsible for, of course." He handed Stiles a wrapped sucker. "Fifty three. Now, Cas pulled him out of the big one, and Heaven kicked him out for most of them because Dean is the Armani suit to the Angelic Oscar party, but I'm starting to think that Dad has a soft spot for him."

That was something else that Stiles thought was a little… strange. Gabe seemed to talk about God like he wasn't around. Like a missing parent. He knew, because he talked about his mom like that.

"What about Sam?"

"Sam died… oh… about half that." Gabe shrugged. "But I like him better." He paused. "Liked him better."

"You guys having a fight?"

"He's not into male bodies." Gabe shrugged. "Like anyone could resist **_this_**." He waved a hand over himself with a mocking grin.

Stiles knew that look too – which was odd, because you'd think that Gabe was just a regular guy when he said things like that. It was so easy to forget that he was an Angel.

"Can't you just…" Stiles made a gesture that was supposed to resemble angelic magic, but ended up looking like he was at a rave. "I kinda always thought Angels were sexless."

"We are." Gabe shrugged. "I'm not a guy, and I'm not a girl – I'm an Angel. But I'm stuck in a guy, and Sam…" He sighed, looking out over the street. "Sam is an idiot."

"Can't you just… get in a girl?" Stiles asked. That sounded slightly gross.

"I need a special vessel." Gabe shrugged. "Family lines." He looked at Stiles expression and grinned. "Look at it like this. Michael needed Dean, because Dean is from a family who are strong enough to house an Archangel. Lucifer needed Sam because of the same reason. This guy," He waved a body over himself again. "Didn't have any kids. If I lose this vessel I'll need to wait another lifetime to get a new one. And besides, I actually like him."

Stiles grinned. "Are nice eyes an Angel thing?" He asked. "Cause Dean's got those Disney eyes, and Cas has that whole 'bluer than the Tardis' thing going on, and you've got buttered toast."

He wasn't expecting Gabe to laugh, but he did, and Stiles thought for the first time that it was a genuine, honest laugh. It made him feel great, like something inside of him was glowing brightly. He couldn't remember feeling so damn happy.

"You, kid, are the best person I've met in years." Gabe grinned. "Perhaps I can help you with your little problem," He waved his hand and a wavering image of Derek stood mid-air. "If you help me with mine?"

* * *

Dean was sitting alone on the bench outside the diner that he'd almost driven past. The burgers were great, the best he'd eaten in a long time, and he'd missed out on breakfast. He'd started to eat them without relish, because Cas didn't like it. Sometimes the Angel wouldn't be able to finish his burger so Dean would grab his leftovers.

"I got you a burger." He told the air. "If you want one."

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it." He replied, not turning. Cas picked up the plate and sat down, unlike Dean, he faced away from the road, plate on the wooden table that Dean was leaning against. He was going to have to apologise. He didn't know how to start.

"Do not tell Sam, please." Cas said, his deep voice sounding slightly strained. "He would find it amusing and may tell Gabriel."

"I'm not going to tell anyone." Dean bit out, looking at his burger that didn't taste so good anymore.

"Thank you."

"I didn't mean-"

"You were in the process of a disturbing dream." Cas suddenly said. "You believed you were in hell. I tried to waken you. You were still under the impression you were dreaming." Dean wasn't looking at Cas, and Cas wasn't looking at Dean. "Dreams are not real. People often see things and do things that are distortions of their mind."

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You cannot hurt me." Cas said. "I am an Angel of the Lord." He lifted his burger and took a bite, chewing carefully. Dean didn't even need to look at him to see the way he worked his jaw, chewing like he wasn't sure he was doing it right. "This burger is superior to the one from Jamestown."

Dean grimaced. He knew he couldn't hurt Cas physically, but he was pretty sure that Angel school didn't come with a lesson on how to avoid being… you know… hurt. He knew Cas had emotions, although sometimes he acted like a robot. Remembered Cas when he'd been shown the future, how he'd fallen, how he'd stuck with Dean even though Dean was **_more_** than broken.

He looked over at Cas for the first time and sighed. His hair was still a mess (It wasn't attractive, he reminded himself) from where Dean had his hand fisted in it, and it looked like he'd buttoned himself back up wrong. His tie was poking out of his trench pocket. He looked undone, half dressed – even though he was wearing more than most people – and completely wrecked.

"Come here." He said, putting his plate on the bench beside him as he stood up. "You look like hell." He grabbed Cas by the arm as he stood, and knew that the Angel let himself be moved till he was standing facing Dean. There was no way he'd have been able to move him unless he wanted to be moved.

Dean grinned, hating that he felt like a fucking teenager again as he faced his Angel. "You've done yourself up wrong." He said, popping out the buttons of the white dress shirt and trying not to look at the pale, almost faded bruises that marked the Angels skin. For a moment he wondered why Cas hadn't just instantly healed them, but decided that he didn't really want to know. He could only think of two reasons, either the Angel wanted him to see them and feel even worse, or he'd **_liked_** it – which was **_so_** much worse than the first option.

His hands were only a little shaky when he re-did the shirt up, looking neater already. Cas was just standing there, staring at him with that thoughtful expression that used to drive Dean up the wall, and was now just a part of Cas.

"Do you want to put your tie on?" He asked, fixing the Angels collar. When he didn't reply, Dean made the mistake of looking at his face. Cas had pretty expressive eyes, and Dean suddenly became an expert in what he was thinking. He worked it out a microsecond before Cas leaned forward and kissed him. Too late to pull back, or say anything, really. His reflexes were fast, but he wasn't **_that_** fast.

The kiss was… confusing. Cas was still holding himself away from Dean, the only part of them that were touching was Deans hands on the Angels lapels, and Cas' mouth on his. He probably should have pulled away, but then, he'd done much, much worse to Cas, and if this was going to help him be okay about it… then Dean was man enough to stand there and take it.

It wasn't unpleasant, just a bit weird. Outside of his dream (or half dream, or whatever it was) kissing Cas was… awkward. There was no blinding heat, no need – no passion.

It could only have lasted a second, maybe even less, and then Cas pulled back. He looked even more confused than he had before. Dean got the feeling he'd been expecting something different.

"That was not the same." He said, and Dean could feel the warmth of his breath on his face.

"No." Dean agreed, smoothing down the Angels jacket. "Do you want your tie on?"

"Yes." The Angel said, voice distant.

Dean was half way through a double Windsor knot when Cas kissed him again. This time though, Dean tried to pull back a little – and his Angel didn't like that.

"Cas, come on." He said, as Cas glared at him. "I'm trying to fix your tie." He wanted to say something like 'knock it off' or 'quit it' but the fact was… Damn. He **_was_** going to hell.

Cas waited until Dean was done with the knot, then tipped his head to the side, looking at him quizzically. "Done." Dean found himself saying, before Cas kissed him again, another one of those horrible, chaste press of lips that he got the impression wasn't what Cas was looking for.

He was right. When Cas pulled back, he was frowning even more. Dean figured he was being used as some kind of practice run, Cas was looking for something that he couldn't quite understand.

Dean saw his Angel slump slightly as he looked at his feet. That was on Dean, he knew. He'd gone and broken an Angel of the Lord. He hated seeing Cas so defeated, it reminded him too much of the fallen shadow he'd seen in his trip to what the future would have been if they'd not stopped Michael and Lucifer.

He leaned forward, crowding Cas' smaller frame with his own and kissed him. Properly.

* * *

Dean was missing. Dean was **_still_** missing, **_Castiel_** was missing, and Sam was at the end of his rope. Gabriel had found someone new to play with, it seemed. His new obsession was Stiles, who was more than happy to flirt and accept candy. Sam patted his shirt pockets again, and came up with nothing. His book was gone too – which was monumentally unfair because he'd only been half way through it.

Sam had gone out on patrol with Derek after breakfast, hoping that he'd run into Dean. He hadn't, and the werewolf wasn't happy at being teamed up with him at all. Most people liked Sam, it was one of those things that got his foot in the door when the badges and fake id's didn't work.

Derek treated him like he was some kind of leper – which was weird because Boyd liked him, and Stiles liked him too.

Two well-manicured fingers snapped in front of his eyes. "Pay attention." The redhead repeated. "So far Stiles is the only one who knows how to do the full incantation and I refuse to be outdone."

"Do you know why Derek doesn't like me?" He asked, suddenly – the words bursting out of his mouth before he could work out how to stop his mouth from moving.

"Yes." The red-head smirked. Her name was Lydia, and Sam got the feeling that she got her way in everything. "Derek doesn't like you because Stiles thinks you're the Hunter equivalent of Chris Hemsworth." She looked over at where Stiles and Gabriel were sitting, in their own bubble of conversation that no one could pierce. "Weird, he's always had a thing for Norse Gods, and now one wants in his pants." She grinned.

"He's not a god." Sam pointed out. "He's an Archangel."

"And Stiles is a 17 year old gay boy with a burning desire to pop his man cherry," She shrugged. "I don't think he's going to care."

"He's too young for Gabriel."

"**_Everyone_** is too young for Gabriel." Lydia laughed. "He's an Archangel. I'm glad though, that he's finally gotten over me."

"I thought you said he was gay?"

"He is." She shrugged. "He just wasn't aware of it. Everyone is a **_little_** gay." She looked back at her notes and frowned. "Now, did you say 'vita Verdi non surata' before cutting, or after?"

* * *

Stiles had a plan. Gabe had a plan. So far, the plan wasn't doing a damn thing. "Don't worry, Hermes." Gabe grinned, kicking back in the sun lounger that he'd magic'd in to the front yard. A muscular man in bright orange speedos handed them a tray of drinks. "Non-alcoholic." The Angel grinned, taking a long sip. They were both wearing trunks, sitting in the front yard. With the way the weather had been recently, they should have been freezing, but the sun was shining on their little patch of perfection and Stiles was warm as toast.

Derek had noticed them lounging before he'd stalked off wherever and Stiles was worried that 'The Plan' wasn't working. "I know people." Gabe grinned, leaning back and closing his eyes. "And if you just wait, you'll see."

"I've been waiting for a **_year_**."

"Another couple of days isn't going to kill you then."

"Probably not, but why take the risk?"

* * *

**_ It's FRIDAY! _**

**_The weather here is so bad that I honestly thought I wasn't going to get home from the office! Cars are backed up for miles right now, no plows have been out and the roads haven't been salted, so we're pretty much snowed in right now._**

**_In better news though, I'm snowed in and therefore do not have to leave the house for anything! WOOP! A weekend of Tumblr and SWTOR and reading fanfiction it is._**

**_My life rocks._**

**_I love you, all of you – and I'm sorry that I hurt some of you with Dean/Sam/Derek being ijits. _**

**_Have some Dean being perfect. _**


	13. Chapter 13

Dean was late for patrol. The other hunters – the Argents - weren't happy with that at all, throwing Sam dark looks and muttering under their breath. He couldn't remember the last time Dean was late for something as important as saving people and killing things – and he was trying not to look worried.

He was worried. And slightly pissed off – because Stiles was gone already, off with Gabriel of all people, to see if they could find something out. His father hadn't been too pleased, but then the Angel simply grinned and asked if the sheriff thought an Archangel of the Lord, beloved of the creator and the same guy that told Mary she had one in the oven, wasn't able to look after one person. Funny how he could pull that crap out when he wanted to get his own way.

"We're going now." Chris snapped, finally. "Tell your brother he can find us out on the route."

"He's never late." Sam repeated, starting to sound a bit like a broken record. "Something must have happened." And when Sam found out what that was, he was going to kill him.

After Chris and his hunters left, Sam was left with Derek – who he knew didn't like him – and Isaac, who was unhappy that he'd have to leave a still unconscious Danny.

Sam wasn't sure how 'The Pack' worked. As far as he knew, Derek was the Alpha – and possibly Stiles was his second in command. He wasn't sure though, because Stiles was a human... He just didn't know. They weren't like any werewolves that Sam had ever heard of. They weren't feral or killers – he thought at least, the one called Peter was a bit… odd – and as far as he could see managed to hold down jobs and go to school like any other humans.

"How's Danny doing?" He asked Isaac as they walked. He got the feeling they were pretty close.

"I don't know." The blond boy shrugged. "How long do they normally sleep for after something like this?"

"It depends." He hedged, not really wanting to tell the teenager that normally the host didn't survive. Normally they'd have just ganked the demon, and the kid it was wearing. They would have had to – if Castiel hadn't shown up.

Where the hell was Dean?

* * *

Stiles was walking through the deserted town feeling like he was trapped in some weird zombie movie, 24 Days Later or something, when he was attacked. One moment he was alone in the middle of the road, and the next someone grabbed him from behind. He saw two of them before he dropped to the ground, sweeping his leg out and knocking them both down.

He could see more of them now, running towards him, probably thinking that he was some poor kid who didn't know what the hell was going on – a new host for them to jump into.

A year of 'training' and self-defence classes were finally paying off, he thought as he covered his eyes with both hands. Gabe had told him what to do. Poor little Stiles was the bait here. As soon as he was attacked, Gabe was going to smite some Demon ass.

Even with his eyes shut tightly, and his hands cupped over them, he could still see the light of Gabriel's grace. Stiles was sure he could have seen it if he didn't even have eyes – it was searing into his brain.

He heard a scream, too loud, too familiar and he made the worst mistake of his life.

He opened his eyes.

* * *

Dean was ignoring his phone. He was ignoring is **_life_**. He'd put it to one side and sat on the bleachers that overlooked what he assumed was the lacrosse pitch of the high school. He'd been to a lot of high schools, but none of them had focused on lacrosse. It was either football or baseball. He wondered if he'd even watched a game.

Cas was gone, gone wherever Angels go when they want to think, and Dean had called Lisa and Ben once he was alone. Told Ben he was sorry, but he wasn't able to make it for his birthday – told Lisa he wasn't coming back. He got the feeling Ben knew it was coming, could tell by the too grown-up sigh and 'Whatever' that was the last thing he'd said before passing the phone to his mom.

"Things are getting… Jesus, Lisa, I don't know." He said, looking at his feet. "Complicated just doesn't cover it."

"Dean, it's okay." She'd soothed. She was good at that. Soothing. She'd done it a lot when he'd arrived at her door, beaten to shit and thinking his brother was dead. She'd put him back together. He was a selfish bastard.

He looked out over the field and tried not to think of what a fucking chick he was being.

The sudden explosion of sound was deafening. The force of it knocked him off the bench, he tumbled down until he landed on the packed ground in a heap.

"What the fuck was that?" He yelled at no one, pulling himself to his feet. His own voice sounded distant to him, and when he put his hands to his ears, there was blood. He looked around franticly. There was no plume of smoke, no sign of any damage that could have caused so much noise. Nothing had changed.

When the hand touched his shoulder, he automatically swung around, fist connecting with a jaw too hard to be human.

"For fuck sake, Cas!" He snapped, gripping his hand as pain bloomed up his arm. "Don't fucking do that! Give a guy some warning."

When Cas didn't reply, Dean looked up. The Angel was talking, but Dean couldn't hear a thing. "I can't hear you." He said, and going on the look that Cas gave him, he was yelling. The Angel reached out and touched two fingers to his head, and the high pitched scream in his ear disappeared instantly, only to be replaced by the sounds of a thousand car alarms going off.

"Gabriel has spoken." Cas said, looking about the area with eyes that could see more than Dean could even think about.

"What the fuck was that?"

"His Voice."

"I've heard his voice. It's annoying. It's not gonna burst your eardrums." Dean retorted, looking at the Angel.

"His Voice." Cas repeated. "His **_true_** voice." And that time Dean could almost hear the emphasis.

"What happened?"

"I do not know. I cannot sense him anywhere." He looked at Dean with eyes that were too blue and probably knew what he was thinking. "He is no longer here."

"What the fuck is going on!"

* * *

"What the fuck was that?" Sam said as he picked himself up from the ground. The werewolves were curled up into balls, silent screams as they covered their ears. Sam felt like he'd been standing too close to a bomb going off, they'd been thrown half way down the street by the blast. His hands were bleeding where he tried to brace his fall, but he knew his ears weren't working right, because he didn't think the high pitched scream was coming from anywhere but his own eardrums.

The werewolves were shifting, half way between human and the wolf from that Sam hadn't seen yet – and wasn't sure if trying to help them would be a good idea. The last thing he wanted was to take on two werewolves in the middle of the night with only a shotgun of salt shells.

He looked around. There was nothing, no plume of smoke or bright flash – nothing to show where the sound came from. He ran towards where they had been standing when the blast him them, and judging by where they had landed, tried to work out where the blast originated. Picking up his shotgun and checking that he still had his knife tucked safely away, he ran down the street and sent up a silent prayer that no one was hurt.

* * *

Stiles couldn't scream. He was in too much pain to scream. He felt like his head was going to burst, perhaps it had already. He wasn't sure if he'd be in this much pain if he was dead though. He could feel warmth around him, golden and bright – too bright – like being wrapped up in the sun. He was burning in light and unable to scream.

He could hear… things. Voices. Thousands of voices, talking at once. Singing. Crying. Everything all at once.

He was strapped to a comet, burning bright and so much pain he couldn't even cry.

* * *

"Jesus!" Dean said, diving forward. The kid, the annoying kid, was standing in the middle of the road surrounded by dead people. He seriously hoped they'd been possessed or the kid was in a boatload of trouble. "Stiles!" He yelled, grabbing him by the shoulders and turning him.

The kid had nice eyes, he thought, as he looked into them, searching for some kind of response. Gold and bright. Had he not noticed that before? He was staring back at Dean blankly, unblinking. "Kid, Stiles, are you okay?" He managed to pull his eyes away from that gaze. "What happened?" He said, looking at the bodies, looking at Cas for some kind of help.

The Angel was staring at Stiles like the kid had grown a new head.

"Dean!" He heard, and turning – hands still gripping Stiles shoulders – saw Sam running towards them, shot gun in his hand. "Dean! Something happened." He yelled, and Dean knew that his ears weren't working right. He was about to ask Cas to fix it, when Stiles pulled away from him and walked towards his brother.

Sam wasn't expecting Stiles to reach up and place two fingers on his forehead.

"What the fuck is going on!" He yelled, as his hearing was obviously restored.

"I don't think you are gonna like the answer, Samsquatch." Stiles replied.

* * *

"I don't know what you want me to say!" The sheriff roared. They were back in the kitchen, looking at Stiles, who was looking completely unconcerned – a sucker in his mouth and occasionally quirking an eyebrow at the screaming match that was going on around him. "Get him out of my son!"

"They can't." Stiles shrugged. "Sorry, pop."

"You," The sheriff glared, pointing at the teenager. "Are not my son!"

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm not happy about this either."

"Shut up, Gabriel." Sam snapped, looking at the teenage boy. "Get back into your own vessel."

"I can't!" He shrugged.

"Get out of my son!"

"I can't!" Gabriel snapped, getting to his feet. "For the love of dad!" He sighed, before snapping his fingers and disappearing.

* * *

Sam found him in the bedroom, laying down on the bed and looking up blankly at the canopy. "I think I've broken him." The Angel whispered, not looking at him. Sam, who was used to Demons popping in and out of hosts, had gotten used to Angels looking the same all the time. And now Gabriel, with his thin lips and shaggy hair was looking at him from the eyes of a teenage boy with a buzz cut. "I think he's broken."

Sam sat on the bed and looked at the teenager. Gabriel. Stiles. "Why?"

"No one really wants to be a vessel, Sammich. Oh, they think it sounds awesome and they always give permission, but it sucks balls."

Sam could remember what Jimmy Novak had been like. How he'd suffered, how he promised he'd never let Castiel back into his body and had only done it to save his daughter from the same fate. "He opened his eyes." Gabriel sighed, looking away from him. "I dropped my vessel so I could do some demon smiting in my own form, and the kid opened his eyes."

Sam knew what happened if you looked at an Angel's grace. It was the last thing you ever looked at. "And I panicked, and… some fucking demon jumped into my vessel – and the kid was looking at me… and he was okay."

"A demon hijacked your body?"

"Yup." Stiles-or-Gabriel snapped. "I wasn't paying attention. I was too busy focusing on the vessel that was looking at me without his eyeballs burning out." He looked at Sam with those gold eyes and sat up. "A new vessel. My vessel!" He grinned, but Sam could see the sadness there. "Do you know how rare it is to get a person strong enough to take an Archangel in?"

"Yes."

"Well… yeah, okay." Gabriel nodded. "You win on that one, Sammy-boo." He leaned back onto the bed. "A new vessel. No wonder I liked him. He was **_made_** for me." His hand went under the pillow and pulled out a mars bar. "Got a crush on a guy who isn't interested, killer eyes, good sense of humour, okay with a little revenge killing and able to eat a heart-attack grill in less than 6 minutes? Not to mention his sweet tooth." He paused. "Also kind of a genius."

"Sounds like your ideal guy."

"Sounds like it." Gabriel sighed. "Before I burnt him out from the inside."

* * *

"I do not think that this is a good idea, Dean."

Dean pulled out of the street and looked over at Cas who had been MIA since they'd found out the Gabriel was squatting inside a teenager.

"Gabriel lost his vessel." Dean shrugged. "I'm gonna go find it, kick it's ass so hard that it'll take a week before he'll walk right, and then force that asshole back into his own body."

"I do not think Gabriel is happy about the change either."

"I don't give a shit what he thinks." Dean snapped, putting his foot on the gas. "He's a dick."

"He is my brother."

"That doesn't mean I have to like him." Dean pointed out. "You able to use your Angel-ness to find him?"

"No. Gabriel has many markings upon his vessel to stop Angels from discovering him."

"Didn't think to put an anti-possession on there too?"

"Obviously not."

"Not as smart as he likes to think then."

"I have not marked this vessel." Cas pointed out. Dean hadn't thought of that. He didn't like the idea that some black eyed demon could just jump into Cas – into Jimmy – at all.

"We'll get you a tattoo once we're done here." He finally said. "Take you to the place that did ours." He paused, glancing over at Cas before fixing his eyes on the road. "Or maybe somewhere a little better." There was no way he was gonna let some half stoned hippie anywhere **_near_**Cas' skin. He'd seen some really nice places, like that one in Miami where they could probably get a really good bit of **_art_**.

"That will not be necessary, Dean." Cas said – but Dean waved him off.

"Nah, come on. Can't have some demon riding you. Not on my watch. We'll get it really small, you'll hardly see it." He glanced over, grinning. "I'll get something done too – if you're worried about the needle."

"If you think it is necessary."

"Yes." He said firmly. No fucking way was he going to let Cas get hijacked by a demon.

* * *

The demon didn't like the new vessel. He'd thought that the person standing on the street was normal – and the meat suit he'd been wearing was just reduced to ash by a fucking **_Angel_**, so he'd jumped in and ran.

The problem was… it was all wrong. It felt wrong. Moved wrong. Like wearing a pair of shoes that were too big – only… the shoes were the size of a house. Bigger.

The vessel didn't even have a **_voice_**, no niggle in the back on the conscience. No screams for help or quiet sobbing. It was empty. Huge and empty. No memories. No name. The demon hated it.

As soon as he found a new one, he'd burn this one to ashes.

* * *

Derek and his pack were in the basement, trying to recover from the explosion of sound. Isaac was almost on his knee, he couldn't get any closer, arms wrapped around his thin body, Boyd pressed up against his side – and even Scott was too close. Peter was curled into a corner, Lydia guarded the door with a bright red smile that was more sinister than the shotgun in her hands.

Something was wrong with Stiles. They knew that, they all knew that. They might not be able to **_hear_** anything, but there was nothing wrong with their sense of smell.

Angel or not, when Derek was able to stand he was going to kick the smarmy ass from one end of town to the other. He was going to rip his fucking throat out if he'd hurt Stiles. He could feel Scott shaking. He'd been at the hospital, which was a few streets away from the blast – but closer than the rest of them had been. Derek could only think how much pain he was in.

Werewolf hearing was normally a bonus. This time it had reduced his pack to nothing more than a pile of hurting bodies, a human standing guard so that Chris and the new hunters didn't take the opportunity to slit their throats.

Derek just really, really wanted to see Stiles. To make sure he was okay. Because when he tried to catch his scent it was all mixed up with that fucking Angel, and Derek didn't want to think about what that meant.

Had Stiles decided to prove a point and sleep with the Angel?

* * *

"Dean is out looking for your body." Sam said, reading through the message that Castiel had obviously typed, going by the painfully correct grammar and word usage.

He was laying on the bed beside Gabriel, or Stiles, looking up at the canopy. He wondered what was going through his mind. He looked… annoyed. Stiles face was much more expressive than Gabriel's, and it looked like every expression was flickering over his face at once.

"I've done a lot of stupid things in my life." He announced suddenly, sounding too much like the teenager for Sam to take his words seriously. "I mean, the whole thing with the horse." He shrugged. "That time I spent a year with the sirens… trying to trick my own brother and getting killed for it… but **_nothing_** was as bad as **_this_**."

"It's not that bad."

"I know you don't think my vessel is all that exciting, Sam Winchester," Gabriel snapped. "Because it lacked a pair of **_breasts_**, but I liked it."

"Don't start that." Sam said, but Gabriel was already gone.

* * *

"Look at me." Dean muttered under his breath. "All alone in the dark, unarmed."

The street was deserted and unlit, houses on each side black without electricity. He hated being bait, but it was the only thing he could think of right now, and it was much better than sitting in the car and trying to scope out a whole town. He knew Cas was going to complain, and Dean had gotten his ass out of the car before he was faced with a clipped answer to his 'What could go wrong?' question. "Poor lost little human." He said, "Who forgot to have anything to eat before going out and now really wants pie." He continued. Damn. Now he wanted pie. He walked on. Would it be abusing his Angel privileges if he asked Cas to get him pie? Sam's unending supply of candy made more sense now –_ the hypocrite_ – but now that Dean had spent the better part of the day with his Angel in the backseat of the Impala, he was worried.

Worried about sending Cas for take-out and not worried about the fact that he'd spent the morning (and a good chunk of the afternoon too) educating an Angel on the finer points of making out in the back of a car – which was too fucked up for his brain to deal with.

Especially since Cas was happy to learn. **_More_** than happy, judging by the wet patch on his pants when Dean (completely accidentally) might have gone a little too far with the grinding. That and the fact that Cas had nearly done a fucking **_backflip_** he'd arched so much. Dean hadn't… you know… finished. Because he wasn't gay.

He walked on, ignoring the fact that was already half hard just thinking about how wrecked Cas had sounded with Deans name on his lips. "Poor little me, walking all alone in the darkness. Scared." He added, looking around. "Alone." When the shadows didn't turn into something more sinister, he glared. "Come on, you little shits, I know you're out here somewhere."

He needed to hit something. Hard. Like a man. Not in any way like a chick who was kinda hoping to see **_just _**how wrecked Cas would sound if Dean had a little more room than the backseat. He wasn't a damn teenager, making out in the back of cars was kids' stuff. He needed a bed.

Not that he was gay. He just figured no one else was showing Cas this stuff and if he was ever gonna get with a chick, he'd need to make sure he wasn't making some rookie mistake. Like when he'd bitten on Dean's bottom lip just a touch too hard and Dean totally **_didn't_** groan like a pornstar. Can't do that with a chick, she'd probably hit him. So Dean was doing him a favour. And if he managed to get him on a bed, he was going to do him more than a **_favour_**…

He heard the footstep behind him before the hand grabbed at his shoulder, and he swung around, fist connecting with a face that he'd wanted to punch for so long it was almost as good as sex.

Gabriel's vessel hit the floor with a thump.

* * *

**_Sorry. _**

**_I just thought... you know.. we all know Stiles is something pretty special and I was typing and then I accidently Vessel'd my favourite character. It had nothing to do with my brain, it just appeared on the screen and then I couldn't unthink it... and Stiles has those great eyes, and most Angels have lovely eyes and Stiles is so much like the Trickster..._**

**_Sorry._**

**_And I just want to keep writing Destiel smut so bad it's seeping into my non-smut stuff. I think I might just write out a full blown (ha. Geddit?) porno chapter just for me. To get it out of my system. _**

**_Also, I might not be able to update tomorrow on account of this amazing headache that is currently making me blind in one eye and feel like puking up. So... migraine? The JOY._**

**_I'll do my best. It might just be a titchy chapter. _**

**_Love you all, and thanks for all the great reviews!_**


	14. Chapter 14

**_THIS IS NOT A CHAPTER. THIS IS WHAT YOU GET WHEN YOU SPEND ALL DAY TYPING WHILE ON VERY STRONG MIGRAINE MEDICATION. BE WARNED. I'M REALLY SORRY. I JUST WANTED TO POST SOMETHING AND THIS IS WHAT MY BRAIN DID. _**

**_DO NOT TAKE PAINKILLERS AND TRY TO PLOT._**

* * *

Dean knew that Cas was there, somewhere, standing on the sidelines while Dean was getting his ass handed to him by the Demon currently riding about in his big brothers Vessel. That didn't make it any better. Why the hell wasn't he stepping in?

He could taste blood on his tongue and felt that mixture of pain and adrenaline that he never could trust, not any more, not after Hell and the things he did there – no longer able to feel the tang of pleasure without a wash of guilt that burned deep in his restored soul.

The demon was strong, like most demons were, but Dean got the feeling that this one was having a bit of a hard time controlling his body. He swung too far on punches, misjudged his kicks and landed them in the wrong places. Places that still hurt, but not the same as the truely painful spots he was aiming for.

Dean kicked out, sweeping his legs and bringing the demon down with a crash of bodies. "For fuck sake, Cas!" He yelled, spitting blood, "Get your ass over here and help me!"

It never really made Dean feel like much of a hunter when Cas would just walk over and put two fingers on the head of a demon and knock it out cold. Right now though, he was greatful for it. "Were you just watching?" He snapped, looking around. "I was getting my ass kicked!"

"It has been pointed out to me on several occasions that you are 'A grown man' who does not need to be 'looked after' by anyone." Cas said, using his fingers to airquote. Dean glared. Yeah, he may have said that, but Cas never actually listened before, always stepping in as soon as he could.

"Whatever. I think this shit broke my ribs."

"I will be able to look at them once we get Gabriel back into his own vessel. I do not think that things are going well."

* * *

Things were not going well. Stiles father had told the werewolves what had happened and Gabriel was facing down a pack of (and Sam used the word in its truest form) rabid wolves.

Waving them down with a sucker.

Things were not going well.

"Listen, sourwolf," He was saying, which made Derek snarl even louder, leaping through the air and – which a flick of Stiles fingers – landed heavily against the wall. "Puppykins, listen. I don't wanna hurt you, but I will." Gabriel frowned. "If you hurt the body, you'll hurt the kid."

As soon as Derek was on his feet he lept again, and Sam got the feeling that he wasn't really able to understand what was being said to him. His eyes were bright red and he had 'totally wolfed out' according to Lydia, who was keeping the other hunters out of the room with a deadly smile and a shotgun.

Derek and the pack had finally healed enough to gain control of their bodies, and the first thing that they had done was find Stiles. Who wasn't actually Stiles. Sam wasn't sure how fast they figured it out, but almost as soon as Derek got within a yard of Stiles body, he'd started freaking out.

It wasn't made easier by the fact that Gabriel was a smart ass who made everything worse by opening his mouth and inserting his foot.

"Look, I don't wanna hurt you, kujo, but I will – if you make me." The threat would have been more effective in his own body, but coming from Stiles... they kind of fell a bit flat. The kid had some kind of sway over the wolves, Sam had seen the way he bossed them about with ease, but Gabriel didn't have that. Gabriel was relying on his Angel powers and it wasn't working. Derek leapt again, and this time, so did the rest of the pack.

"For the love of dad!" Gabriel-inside-Stiles snapped, and waved his hand. Four incredibly fluffy puppies hit the ground, no bigger than one of Sam's boots. The snarls and yips were nothing but cute. Sam glared.

"Gabe! Turn them back!"

"No!" They are acting like idiots. They get treated like idiots."

"They are too cute!" Lydia grinned. "Peter, get me a puppy wolf. Go. Now." She commanded. Peter was the only wolf who wasn't attacking Gabriel. Sam wondered why.

"Sorry, my darling." He shrugged. "This time, no."

She pouted. Sam looked at the puppies, who were now trying to attack Stiles-who-was-Gabriel. Only, all they were managing to do was mouth the hem of his jeans and look like the poster-pups for some overly cute TV advertisement.

"Gabriel, you need to turn them back!" Sam insisted. "There are a group of hunters here who would probably leap at the chance to kill them like this!"

"No one is going to hurt them." Gabriel smirked. "Look at this one!" He picked up the black ball of fluff and red eyes. "No wonder the kid gets all gooey around you. I could eat you whole, yes I could!" He cooed. "Who's the big Alpha? You are! Yes you are!"

The door burst open. Actually, burst open – and Castiel walked through, carrying in his arms the body of Gabriel.

"Took you long enough." Stiles-and-Gabriel smirked. Lifting the puppy in his hands so it could see the body. "See, Fido! Look! I'm getting my own body back."

* * *

"I'm not sleeping here." Dean said, looking at the beds. "I'm gonna go find some nice foreclosed house or some motel." There was no way he was going to be in the same room as... whatever was going on.

Stiles, back in his own body but still unconscious, was surrounded by werewolves. Even his own dad had been pushed out of the way so that the 'pack' could get as close to him as possible. Dean was pretty sure it was some kind of sex thing, and he wasn't going to be involved. "Cas, I'm not staying here."

He felt Cas touch his shoulder and the shift of air around them. "Jesus, come on!" He snapped. "I could have gotten in the car, Cas!" He snapped. "I hate that. You know I hate that!" The room was... well, it wasn't like anywhere he could remember being. It was actually sunny. Which was fucking weird because it was the middle of the night. "Cas, where are we?"

"A small villa on the coast of Greece." The Angel replied, walking towards the door. "When I was searching for my Father, I found this, and believed that if there was a place where God would come, this would be it."He pushed the door open as he talked and walked out into the light. Dean followed, because... well... He'd never been anywhere you couldn't drive to.

The sun was warm, like stepping into a kitchen in the middle of cooking a roast, the smell of ocean and sand everywhere. Dean wouldn't have been surprised if Cas had taken him to heaven.

As far as he could see was pale sand and turquoise water – stretching out for miles and miles, like some kind of postcard. The villa was tiny, whitewashed stone, Dean and Cas standing in the middle of a paved garden.

"Fuck me." Dean sighed, looking around. "Who owns this place?" It was... well, it looked like something you'd see on TV. It didn't seem real. Dean had never seen water so blue, or sand so white – and he'd been to beaches. Not a lot of beaches, but enough to know this one was... stunning.

"I do." Cas shrugged. "Jimmy does." He waved a pale hand over to the door, where a piece of driftwood had 'Novak' painted on it in neat lettering.

"How the fuck did you get money for this?"

"I am an Angel of the Lord." Cas said, looking at Dean with an expression that clearly said Dean was missing the point. "I do not require such things."

"This is your place." Dean suddenly realised. "You've got a house, a place. On earth."

"Yes."

"But you live in Heaven!" He argued. "You don't need a place like this! You could just... I dunno... make one in heaven."

"I no longer feel at home there, my brothers and sisters mistrust me, and I feel closer to my Father here, more than anywhere else." The Angel shrugged. "I thought you would like it. We can go to a mote-"

"Nah, nah, it's okay." Dean said, waving a hand, eyes drifting over to the ocean. He wondered how warm it out be. It looked pretty warm.

"You need to remove your shirt." Cas said, after a few moments. Dean glanced over at him and stared, blankly.

"Huh?"

"You will need to take off your shirt so I can heal your ribs." Cas repeated like Dean was testing his eternal patience.

"Yeah, sure." Dean nodded, eyes flicking back to the water. "Maybe go for a swim too, yeah?"

"We cannot remain here," Cas reminded him. "There is still the matter of the missing people – and a hole to hell that we must locate."

"Yeah, but like... after that, we can go swimming, right?" Dean agreed, eyes never leaving the white tips of the small waves as he pulled his shirt over his head. "Like a vacation. We totally deserve a vacation."

Dean had never really thought about taking a break from hunting, but looking out at all that water, all that pure, clean sand... he could see himself being okay with a break. Here. In this place.

"Yes, Dean." Cas nodded, looking over his bruised skin like there wasn't anything more interesting to look at. "This will not hurt." He said, and placed a hand on his ribs. Dean felt warmth and comfort sink through his whole body and couldn't help but quirk an eyebrow at the Angel in front of him. Cas had healed him up plenty of times before and he didn't need to be shirtless for it. He didn't bother mentioning that though, and let Cas run his fingers over the bruises, face a mask of concentration.

"You do not take good enough care of your body." He chided.

Dean shrugged. "Don't need to, got an Angel – better than any healthcare plan around."

Cas looked up at him for a moment, a mixture of exasperation and humour. "I may not always be able to heal you from your own heart." He said, voice even. "When I remade you, Dean, I did not think you would ruin my gift with fat and grease."

"Are you callin me fat, Cas?" Dean said, pulling back. Okay, so maybe Sam had the salads and the abs, but Dean wasn't fat. He wasn't. He was just... you know... maybe he should lay off the burgers for a while.

"No, Dean." Cas said, "But you eat badly."

"You pick the food!"

"You will complain if I do not return with 'real food'." Cas countered. Dean grinned, yeah, okay, he might occasionally bitch about the over abundance of salad, but didn't he eat the vegan stuff? It was hard to think, really, when Cas had his hands splayed across his ribs, and the warm sun on his back. He was probably gonna burn. His freckles just loved the sun too – he was gonna look like a fucking mess.

Cas wasn't just healing his ribs, he knew, because things in the distance were starting to come into focus, eyesight getting back to where it had been when he was in his early twenties and hadn't wrecked his vision by spending too much time peering into the dark or under the harsh lights of bar signs. His knees too – stopped that dull and constant ache. It was great, slow... careful.

He didn't think when he leaned back against the wall, Cas hands still on his ribs, and closed his eyes, focusing on the warm feeling of being put back together by careful hands. That twinge under his shoulderblade evened out as he leaned against the warm white wall, and he couldn't help the sigh when his back popped back into place. Better than sex, that flood of relaxation flowing through him like water.

He was almost expecting it, when he felt Cas press his lips against his skin, over his heart. Knew that it was coming, really. Didn't see the point in doing anything but let the Angel work his magic, because Dean was feeling re-made and damn if he wasn't going to let Cas extort a little payment for what he was doing.

Because Dean wasn't gay, and he wasn't into dudes – but Cas was wearing way too many clothes and he wasn't sure how to go about tell an Angel he needed to quit messing around and start removing layers. Dean was standing in his barefeet and jeans, and Cas still had his damn trench on, a jacket, a tie, **_and_** a shirt. Something needed to go.

Cas though, was quite happy to carry on tracing his lips over as much of Dean as he could, which was great, really, but his dick was aching and there were things he really wanted that mouth to be doing.

"Cas, Buddy," He mumbled, inwardly cursing at the sound of his own voice.

"Yes, Dean?" Cas didn't sound wrecked, Dean thought, opening his eyes. That wasn't how it was supposed to go. Cas was the one who should be sounding 12 shades of fucked, and Dean should be the one in control. That was how it should be.

Cas was looking up at him, blue eyes almost the same colour as the ocean Dean couldn't wait to dive into, and he managed to frown. "Are you not really hot in those clothes?" He asked, trying to sound a bit more like he was concerned for Cas and not thinking with his dick – which didn't seem to mind that Cas was a guy, or an Angel.

"Not r-" Cas started, but Dean pushed himself back onto his feet, hands pulling at the trench and nodding. "Yes, Dean." Cas suddenly said. "The temperature outside is warmer than expected."

"Right." Dean agreed, pulling off the suit jacket along with the beige coat. He wasn't being rough, but he wasn't exactly taking it slowly either – and Cas was standing there like a doll as Dean worked the know of his tie. "How long have we got here before we need to get back?" He asked, throwing the tie on the ground and starting on the buttons of the white dress shirt.

"8 hours." Cas replied, sucking in a breath when Dean finally managed to get the shirt off, hands pushing and pulling until the Angel's back was to the wall, skin on skin at last. "Maybe 12." He said, voice deeper as Dean lowered his head, tongue on the vein that was throbbing on his neck.

"12 sounds okay." Dean shrugged, the movement bringing his body closer to Castiel, skin warm and pale and all Dean wanted.

"Yes." Cas mumbled, hand gingerly placed on his shoulder. Dean groaned at the touch, because... hell, his scar was burning, and Cas' hand covered it perfectly, and... it was good. It wasn't gay. Dean really wasn't gay. His response though, that half groan he wanted to deny, was what Cas must hand been waiting for, because the grip tightened and Cas fisted his other hand into Deans hair, pulling on the short strands. "Twelve hours seems like an appropriate time to sleep." He agreed.

Dean nodded, hands gripping at hips narrower than his, feeling the hardness of Cas as the Angel rocked into his thigh, desperate for friction. "Yeah, no one expects us before breakfast, not with all the drama in that house." Dean agreed, mouth tracing along Cas' jaw, his hand trying to pull Cas closer into his body while the other fisted into his already tousled hair.

He was sure Cas was going to say something, actually pulled back a little so he could hear the words, but nothing came out of his mouth but a strangled "Dean," which was enough to have Dean forget the careful roll of his hips for a more violent slam of their bodies against the wall.

He pushed harder, hips grinding forward, thigh pressed hard against the Angel who was gripping his shoulders, not giving a damn about anything but trying to get off on the feeling of their bodies. Hell, Dean knew all he'd have to do was slide a hand over his crotch and he could have Cas fucking **_whimpering_** his name.

"Tell me you brought my bag here." He groaned into Cas' ear, finger fumbling with the catch of the Angels pants. He can feel Cas shake his head, but nothing comes out of his mouth but a deep groan that bypassed Deans ability to think for a few moments. Why did he need his duffle?

Lube.

Fuck. "Cas, I need my bag." He said, pulling back slightly. "It's got stuff I need in there." He added. "Stuff I need **_now_**."

Cas pulled back, slowly, reluctantly – eyes looking stormy and seriously pissed off. Dean grinned, and pressed a hard kiss to his mouth before his brain caught up with what a stupid fucking chick move that was. "What do you need?" Cas asked, voice clipped. He sounded like a pissed off teacher, cut off mid rant by the classroom door opening.

"Ah, in my bag," Dean said, looking down at where their bodies were still tightly pressed against each other. "I've got a bottle of, um..." He paused. Fuck, come on Dean! He chastised himself. Jesus, he'd used lube before. Christ, it wasn't like it was a **_weird_** thing to have. "Lube." He finished. "We're gonna need it."

"Why?" Cas asked, and this was now a conversation Dean wasn't up for having.

"It'll... you know, make things eaiser." He said, trying not to think about the way his dick actually twitched at the word 'things' like he was some damn teenager. "Smoother."

"Things are not smooth now?"

"Sex, Cas, if you wanna have sex I'm gonna need the lube, okay?" He snapped, feeling like a fucking idiot. Who the fuck was he kidding? He wasn't gonna be able to do this. He wasn't gonna be able to do this with Cas – Cas who was important and an Angel, and... Jesus, probably the only person in the world next to Sammy that he trusted – He pulled back, right back, hating how hard it was to untangle his legs from Cas', how tightly he'd been holding on. "Forget it." He said, shaking his head. "Look, we'll go for a swim or something." He said, standing back and running his hands through his hair.

"Yes, Dean." Cas said, pulling himself up and not making eye contact.

* * *

Dean felt like shit. No wonder. Cas had left, although he had mentioned something about returning later, and Dean was skinny dipping in an ocean on the other side of the world from where he should be.

He didn't want to think about where he should be, because he was pretty sure by now he should be inches deep inside an Angel, wrapped in grace and warmth and sex he just knew was gonna rock his world. He'd gone and fucked it up. Again.

The water was warm and great and just like he thought it would be. He wasn't a great swimmer, he'd never really learned, just jumping in and out of lakes and pools near motels when his dad was on a job. He loved the sea though, how easy it was to float. How clear the water was.

He saw the too familiar shape of Cas on the beach, and grinned – grinned like his face was splitting because he'd thought that Cas wouldn't be back till much later, and he was there, now.

"Are you gonna come in?" He called, half swimming, half wading closer to the shore – until his feet touched the cool sand and he was able to stand upright, the waves bobbing him up and down slightly as he watched Cas watch him.

"I do not swim." Cas replied. Fully dressed again, right down to his black leather shoes.

"I'll teach you." Dean grinned, holding out his hand, but not moving closer to the shore. "Come on."

Cas looked like he was going to refuse, and Dean could actually feel his bottom lip pout. Okay, so he might bitch about Sammy and his puppy-dog eyes, but **_no one _**had a pout like Dean Winchester.

* * *

Cas gripped his arm tightly as the ebb and flow of the water pushed and pulled them in a rocking motion. They were standing, bare feet curled into the sand, sun shining down hot and lazy on their naked bodies and Dean was laughing.

Laughing because Cas was holding onto his arm like he thought he was going to drown, and laughing because he was warm, and safe, and a million miles away from things that wanted to hurt him. Laughing because it was sunny, he was at the beach, and Cas was there – and his lips tasted like saltwater and Dean didn't want to leave.

"Dean, this is not enjoyable." Cas was saying, and Dean didn't think about anything when he kissed him.

"I'm not going to let you **_drown_**, Cas." He laughed, pulling away from the death grip on his arm. "You can fly, right? If you can fly, you can swim."

"Your logic is flawed."

"Walk towards me." He said, pulling away further.

"I do not wish to move."

"Cas, come on." Dean grinned. "Walk. You can still touch the bottom."

When Cas finally did reach him, made harder because Dean kept stepping further away, He gripped his arm and grinned like a toddler taking his first steps. Dean kissed him again, because he could.

* * *

**_ I wasn't gonna put this up because its utterly pointless, but... I kinda like it... sorry._**

**_I promise as soon as I feel better I will plot and tell story and stuff. But I'm utterly off my face on painkillers for this migraine and I just... this is my brain on drugs. _**

**_Fluffy smut._**

**_Some folk go kill bitches and fuck shit up, and I write fluffy smut._**


	15. Chapter 15

Sam was surprised just how pleased he was to see Gabriel back in his old vessel. He was currently trying to avoid the pack of snarling wolves who he had managed to convince the Archangel to turn back into people, because they were somehow convinced that Sam had some kind of sway over the Trickster.

Gabriel was actually pretty subdued, which Sam hadn't been expecting. He was hovering between distant – eyes glazed over and expression flat – and concerned, continually glancing over at the still sleeping body of his new vessel. Sam had tried to call Dean, it was well after midnight now, and he'd vanished **_hours_** ago. It didn't look like anyone was going on patrol. Everyone was watching Stiles.

"I can't get Dean on the phone." He told Gabriel, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes drifting over the still sleeping teenager. The Angel looked at him blankly for a second.

"Oh, he won't get reception where he is."

"I don't know **_where_** he is." Sam pointed out, voice low. "He keeps disappearing when I need him."

"You don't need him." Gabriel shrugged. "You're sitting around. There is nothing he could do here except bitch about sitting around, so leave him alone."

Sam glared. "Do you know where he is?"

"He's with my baby brother." Gabriel shrugged, eyes looking over at the sleeping boy again. "And he's laughing."

Sam sighed. Drunk then. Damnit, he needed Dean sober for this, and he was off somewhere drowning his sorrows in cheap alcohol. He hated that Castiel didn't try to curb him, he was probably the only person who could.

There was a sigh from somewhere in the room, and for a moment, Sam thought that Stiles was waking up. It wasn't until the curly headed blond – Isaac, he remembered – rolled off the bed where he was sitting beside Stiles and almost fell over in his attempt to get to the other sleeping teenager.

Danny groaned, blinked, and groaned again.

* * *

Danny hurt everywhere. He felt like he'd spent a year running laps, a month doing crunches and at least a week of puking his guts up. Everything hurt. His **_fingernails_** hurt.

"Danny?" A voice he recognised asked, and the feel of a warm hand placed gently on his arm. Isaac, he was sure. He'd been half flirting with him for months, smiles and inside jokes and forgetting that he actually did have a boyfriend. Had a boyfriend. They'd broken up – he'd done it in a text, right before…

Danny snapped his eyes open, pulling himself upright even though it hurt like hell and looked around. Everyone was looking at him. He could move his own body.

"What happened?" He gasped. "I was… something was **_in_** me!"

Someone he didn't recognise stood up, and he… he knew him. "Sam Winchester." He said, remembering the panic in the… demon inside of him.

"Yeah." The tall man nodded. Danny remembered that there had been another, shorter, with green eyes and a smile that Danny never wanted to see again. He could remember the fear. The panic. The **_Angel_**.

"Stay away!" He said, pulling back onto the bed, not sure if the feelings running through his body were his own or memories of the demon that had taken over him. "What's going on?"

"You were possessed by a demon." The tall Winchester said, looking at him with soft eyes. "Things might take a while to make sense."

"It knew who you were." Danny said, memories filled with emotions he didn't understand. "It was scared of you."

"My brother and I have a reputation."

"Your brother is a…" He tried to think of the word. "An apprentice to Alistair." He remembered, voice distant. "The… the thing inside of me was terrified."

He saw a shadow pass over the tall man's face, and he nodded. "Dean… he's not anymore."

Danny nodded. He remembered. "Dean Winchester is saved." He remembered that voice, echoing all around hell like a bomb. Not his memory, but shared. "Saved by Angels."

"Just one Angel." A man he'd never seen before – had no memory at all of, shared or otherwise – added. "Just the one."

"I don't know what's going on." Danny whispered. His thoughts were confused, jumbled. He didn't know if he was remembering or dreaming – blood and horror and white teeth and a smile he was scared of, the smell of cologne and blond curls that he'd messed up with a hand ruffling good naturedly through them, desperate for contact but trying to remember why he couldn't touch. Was the screaming his memory? The skinless dogs with too many teeth? The touch of fingertips on his arm before falling away, red blushes and a bashful grin? "I don't know what is mine."

"It'll take time." Sam Winchester, skin of the Devil, but not the Dark Lord, said, looking at him with concern. "The demon was in you for a week or two – may be even longer, we're not sure."

"You're not Lucifer."

"No"

"You were."

"Yes."

"But you fought him off."

"Yes."

"I couldn't fight him off." Danny heard his voice crack, and suddenly, hot tears on his face. "I tried." He sobbed, as Isaac wrapped his arms around him. "I tried."

"I know." Sam's voice was calm, soft, like he knew how it felt, and Danny knew he **_did_** – because Danny knew that he'd been through the same thing, only a million times worse. Skin of the **_Devil_**. Danny had been the Skin of a Duke. He clung to Isaac, who never had to share his body with something pure evil, and sobbed.

"You need to rest." The shorter man said, and Danny tried to think… but no – he didn't know who he was. "We're going to shut these curtains, and you just try to rest."

He didn't let go of Isaac, and Isaac didn't let go of him – he curled up as much as he could without losing contact with his friend, and wept.

* * *

Dean had never been so relaxed in his life. He could get used to this, the weather, the water – the weightless feeling of not having something… **_anything_**… trying to kill him. He'd found a pair of thin white cotton bottoms and had been padding about the villa in his bare feet while Cas went… wherever… for something to eat.

The floor was tiled and cold on his feet, which was great, because his back was tight and hot – and his face had already started to sting. Sunburn.

He heard Cas move around the small kitchen, the sound of bowls and plates being moved that signalled his return.

Dean padded towards the sound and leaned against the cool plaster of the door frame. Cas was wearing the same white pants as he'd found in the dresser, feet bare and looking… well… Dean blinked. **_Angelic_**. The poster boy for Heaven. He almost glowed. Dean grinned.

"Is that salad?"

"Yes, Dean." His angel said, not looking at him. "I believe that you stated your desire to '_lay off the burgers'_ for a while." Damn, but those air quotes were kinda dorky.

"Too hot here for steaks anyway." Dean agreed. "Need a hand?"

"I have two hands." Cas said, pausing. "Why would I need another?"

Dean blinked, and suddenly saw all those times that Cas had made a similar comment, so obviously wrong and awkward. He blinked again. Then laughed so hard his ribs hurt.

"You're a little shit, you know that?" He managed. "It's the shortened version of my name, Dean." He said, tone light and mocking. "He's the funniest member of the garrison, Dean." he carried on, loving that Cas was watching him with a smile that caused the sides of his eyes to crinkle. "You little shit, you've been taking the piss out of us this whole time."

"I don't understand that reference." Cas shot back, which only made Dean laugh harder. Like hell he didn't understand that reference.

"Uh, huh." He snorted, wiping his eyes. "Feed me before I decide to kick your ass for that 'Dr Sexy' conversation."

He may have grabbed Cas as he walked past, pulling the Angel backwards into his arms and kissing the pale skin at the back of his neck before letting him go – but no one else was there to see it.

No one saw the Angel glow so bright that his skin was almost transparent with his joy – but half a world away, a proud father looked away with distant eyes and smiled.

* * *

Sam curled up on his bed and worried about his brother. No matter what Gabriel said, he was sure that something was wrong. He'd been spending too much time away, too much time missing or late… He'd been gone for almost 8 hours now, missing dinner – something Dean never did – and his bed was empty, car in the drive.

"I can hear you worry." Gabriel muttered, curled up on the other side of the bed, not touching Sam at all. "Shut up and sleep."

"Dea-"

"Dean is asleep, laying on a hard mattress, dreaming about oceans." Gabriel cut him off. "Shut up and sleep."

"Look, I'm just-"

"For crying out loud!" Gabriel snapped, grabbing his arm and… his ears popped, a rush of displaced air, and Sam was on his feet, cold tiles and bright light. He was standing in some kind of whitewashed house, at the foot of a bed.

Dean was sound asleep, face down in the pillow. Castiel too – asleep, curled around Deans back, the big spoon. His skin was glowing like a nightlight. Deans skin was glowing too – although not quite so beautiful, obviously painful sunburn…

He didn't get to see anything else, another pop, another movement of air, and he was back in Beacon Hills, back in the conjured bed that Gabriel had made. "Now shut up and go to sleep." The angel snapped.

"Angels don't sleep." Sam said, remembering Castiel. "He was sleeping."

"We don't have to sleep. We don't require it." Gabriel muttered into his pillow, back still facing Sam. "But we **_can_**." He turned his head and looked at Sam with an expression he was used to seeing from Dean if he woke him up too soon. "Some of us actually **_like_** it." He said, turning back and punching the pillow.

"Where are they?"

"Casa Novak." Was the muffled reply. Then Gabe turned, and looked at Sam with a twinkle in his eye. "Geddit? Casanova-k?" He snorted. "I like that."

"That wasn't Jimmys house."

"Wow. You must have been at the **_top_** of your class at school." Gabriel snarked. "It's my baby brothers little slice of home away from home. Greece I think," He shrugged. "Somewhere on the coast."

"You don't know?" Sam asked, pulling himself up into a sitting position. "You just took me there!"

"No, I showed you a vision." Gabe replied, "I don't just barge into other people's bedrooms where they are sleeping." He said, looking utterly scandalised. "Well… okay, I **_do_**, but not my baby brother."

"Dean was sleeping."

"**_I'd_** like to be sleeping."

"Dean was sleeping with **_Castiel_**."

"I hate to point out that both of them were wearing pants and were, in fact, **_sleeping_**."

"Right." Sam nodded. "Why was Cas glowing?"

"Grace." Gabriel shrugged. "He's in his own home, he's relaxed, he's sleeping. Can you please stop talking?"

"Do you glow?"

"Sam, right now, I'm about to reach forward and smite you if you say another word."

* * *

He woke up wrapped around a warm, comforting body, blond curls in his face. Danny, for a moment unsure where he was, just enjoyed the feeling of heat – hard muscle and smooth skin.

"Are you awake?" Isaac asked, not moving – not pulling away or pushing forward.

"No."

"Okay." There was a smile in his voice. His fingers flexed, Danny hadn't realised just how hard he'd been gripping Isaac in his sleep.

"Sorry." He mumbled, pulling back a little, loving the fact that Isaac took that opportunity to push forward, just enough for Danny to be able to tell that his 'maybe gay' crush was perfectly okay with letting Danny know he was hard.

Danny smiled, and Isaac pulled him closer. "I'll let you sleep."

"Okay." He nodded, the movement causing their noses to bump.

Then Danny remembered.

* * *

"Dean," Cas was saying, voice a million miles away. "Wake up, it is time to leave."

He groaned, turning and pulling Cas down into his body. "No," he mumbled, lips seeking skin. Everything felt… wonderful. The air was crisp, he could hear the ocean… Cas was warm and hard and perfect. "Stay here." He mumbled, dragging his mouth over pale, glowing skin. "Glowing." He said, sleep dragging his voice out slow.

"The child, Danny, has awoken. He has seen the hole to hell."

Dean opened his eyes. Cas was sprawled over his body, pale – and yes, **_glowing_** – skin and obvious hard on. "You've just killed the mood." He grumbled, aware than Cas could tell that wasn't the case. The Angel simply nodded.

"We must go, we have been gone for longer than expected."

"I'm hungry."

"Gabriel has made breakfast."

"I wanna eat it on the beach."

"It's dark here."

"So?" He countered. "Sam's got Gabriel. He's got plenty of Grace to shut every hole to hell down **_twice_**, they don't need us." He paused. "You only just got re-Angel-ised. You're bound to be running low on mojo."

"I am well rested."

"Don't you wanna stay?" He asked, and for a moment he didn't recognise the childish tone in his voice. He was begging. Begging.

Fuck.

"Right, okay." He said, pushing Cas off his body and vaulting off the bed. "Okay. Where the fuck are my clothes?"

"Dean-" Cas started, but he waved him away.

"Fucking hell, Cas!" He groaned, looking about his feet. "Is the kid okay? Did he say what he saw?" He couldn't believe that he'd been so ready to just let Sammy deal with this crap on his own. What the hell was he thinking? "Where the fuck are my clothes, Cas?" He snapped.

It didn't take him long to dress, the Angel already back into his suit and trench. As Cas lifted two fingers to Deans forehead, he couldn't help but be a little relieved that he'd stopped glowing.

* * *

"They're underground." Danny was telling them. "Bombs strapped to their chests. Thousands of people."

Sam looked at his brother, who was standing in the door frame, the opposite side of the room to Castiel, who looked… blank.

"The demon… said something about blowing off the hinges."

"Fucking idiots." Gabe said, after a second. "They've found the cage."

Sam paled, Dean looked ready to throw up. No one else understood the importance of what Gabriel had just said. No one else understood what the cage was.

"They've been looking all over, and they found it here." Danny said, looking at Gabriel like he was the only one who was understanding what he was saying. "They found it, where he's locked up. It's like a jailbreak." He said. Sam noticed he was holding onto to Isaac's hand like a lifeline. "The people are going to be killed, the blood opening the lock."

"Fuck." Gabriel sighed. "My **_fucking_**brothers and their **_fucking_**egos."

"You have brothers?" Someone asked. Sam didn't know who.

"I have hundreds. But the two biggest pains in my ass are trying to crawl out of a cage that a lot of people died to stuff them in." He saw the blank looks around them. "Lucifer and Michael." He clarified. "Dad's favourites – and their going to kill thousands of people just to test a **_theory_**."

"Blow the gates off the cage?" Dean said, looking like a damn tomato he was so red. Had he spent the whole 12 hours he was missing frying his skin off?

"A bloody boom." Gabriel said, humourlessly. "Emphasis on the bloody, and the boom. Sacrifice enough people and blow a big enough hole… they think they'll be able to get out."

"Will they?"

"Probably." The Archangel shrugged. "No one ever tried it."

"How fucked are we?" Dean asked.

"I'd start kissing your kids."

* * *

Dean loaded up the shotgun with salt shells, looking up at the murky sky. Cas was looking at him with a disapproving tilt to his head, while Sam went through the contents of the trunk, picking up anything he thought might be useful.

He knew Cas was pissed. **_He_**was pissed. Probably for different reasons.

He'd thought this was over, this fighting between Lucifer and Michael, Dean and Sam. They'd won. They'd locked both of those crazy assholes away and tried to forget about the whole thing.

Cas was pissed because Dean was pulling away. Yeah – he was man enough to know he was doing it. A day on the beach, even a fucking **_great_**day, didn't mean that Dean was okay with… whatever Cas thought was going on. They weren't… together. They were just buddies. In the gloomy light of Beacon Hills, things seemed much more complicated than they had on a beach in the middle of nowhere. Especially with Sam watching him, and all these fucking people around. He didn't want to hear it. Didn't want to hear Sam laugh cause he'd gone an fallen for an Angel, didn't want to hear the whispers about Dean Winchester being a **_fag_**. Fuck, he wasn't even gay. He glanced over at Cas, who was looking at his feet like he'd done something wrong.

"Cas, you gonna take a gun, or are you cool with… I dunno… smiting?" He asked, and got a kick in the gut when his angel looked up like he'd expected Dean to just ignore him like he'd done in the kitchen. He'd not expected Cas to come up beside him and… whatever, there were other people there and Dean wasn't cool with that. So he'd pushed him away with a hissed 'Back off, Cas' and felt like shit when the Angel stood on the other side of the room.

"I will have my sword." Cas replied, eyes reproachful. Dean felt like he'd kicked a puppy. With a kitten strapped to his boot.

"Right."

"Well, they won't miss us coming." Sam suddenly piped up, like nothing was going on. Hell, Sam didn't know anything was going on. Which was good. "With you there."

"What the fuck are you talking about, Sam?" Dean snapped.

"Your practically neon, Dean." Sam laughed. "The last time you had sunburn like that you were 15 and you couldn't move for a week." He snorted. "You hurtin?"

"No." Dean grumbled. He had been hurting, lying on the top of the bed, crisp sheets burning on his skin, until Cas had thrown an arm around him and pulled him close. His skin had been cool, soothing, and he'd slept like a baby. "Maybe hell was good for something."

Dean got the impression that Sam was just itching to say something else, and Dean was more than ready to unload the gun into his brothers head if he wouldn't shut his cakehole, but he was saved (again) by an Angel.

Gabriel appeared at the door, people armed and booted up behind him.

"Lets get this show on the road, boys."

* * *

**_My migraine is under control with many, many pills! YAY! Although this wasn't a plot heavy chapter, we are getting into the action now._**

**_It only took me 15 chapters to get there, but... woop! _**

**_I had huggy perfect Dean and angsty pissy Dean in the same chapter and I think poor Cas doesn't understand why Dean might not be okay with PDA. That's a personal Headcannon of mine that not a lot of people share – Dean is a snugglebunny when he's alone, but when he's with other people it's all about being tough and super-masculine. _**

**_Also, meeting one of my guildmates IRL tomorrow, so slightly nervous! See you Monday!_**


	16. Chapter 16

Derek sat by Stiles side and watched as he slept. His father had thought it was a peaceful sleep, but Derek knew better. Knew by the sad look on that… Angels… face, that something was wrong. Stiles wasn't sleeping, and the longer Derek watched him, the more he started to think that he'd never wake up.

He thought Angels were supposed to be **_good_**. They were supposed to **_help_** people. By the way that Gabriel and Castiel acted, all they cared about was the two hunters who brought them. The dark haired one didn't even talk to anyone but his boyfriend and Derek didn't trust anyone who disappeared on a whim.

He was alone with Stiles, normally something he tried to avoid because he was too young, and too loud – too near, too **_everything_** – for Derek to deal with. He always said the wrong thing, **_did_** the wrong thing, when it came to Stiles. And now… now he was a pale body on a bed.

The rest of the pack had gone to try and find the people Danny had seen being held underground. Derek should have gone with them, but someone had to stay with Stiles and he didn't trust anyone else to do it. Stiles normally would have taken the lead, he knew. He'd be organising, keeping the pack in check, keeping **_Derek_** in check – making sure Lydia had a tight hold of Peters leash and that Scott did what his Alpha told him to. Now he was a pale, fragile body on a bed – and Derek didn't realise just how much he'd come to rely on him.

Something deep inside his soul was whining.

* * *

Dean was in the sewers. The werewolves weren't able to work down here because of the smell, driving them crazy with all the different scents. Sam was working his way through the other side of the pipelines with Gabriel, and Dean was trying to think of something to say to Cas that didn't make him sound like a fucking douche.

"When this is over, you think Sammy would like to go to the beach?" He asked, voice low and flat – trying to keep the sound from traveling to any demons who might be nearby. He shouldn't even be talking.

Cas didn't look thrilled with the idea. "Gabriel has expressed a wish to take both Sam and yourself 'sightseeing'."

"He didn't say anything to me."

"I think he may broach the subject with Sam first."

Dean paused, looking over at Cas. "Will you be going?"

"No."

"Why?" He just couldn't seem to get his feet to work.

"I would not be needed." Cas shrugged. "Gabriel is much stronger and more powerful that I am. You would be on no danger."

"You don't wanna go sightseeing?"

"It is unlikely that I would see anything I had not seen before."

"Right." Dean said, shrugging a single shoulder. "Yeah, okay." He turned back to the sewer, not sure why he was suddenly furious with his Angel. Fuck him, Dean didn't need him. He managed a whole fucking year without him.

* * *

"Vacation?"

"Yeah, Sammich, a vacation." Gabriel was grinning, Sam could hear from the tone of his voice. "A trip. A holiday. A break. A-"

"I know what a vacation is, Gabe." Sam bit out. "But I don't think **_now_** is a great time for it."

"Why not? Dean's already been off playing on the beach in the middle of the biggest shit storm to hit since Lucifer decided to break his smug ass out of prison." Gabriel pointed out. "Or did you miss the sunburn and sand in his boots?"

"He was gone for a few hours."

"Who says we need to go for weeks? You wanna have breakfast in Paris? Lunch by the Pyramids? Be back in some crappy motel with Casa Erotica and some magic fingers in time to salt an burn some pissed ghost? You can do that too."

"Dean wouldn't want to."

"Dean'll do what he's told and enjoy it." Gabriel muttered. "He's got some serious grovelling to do – and if he doesn't man up soon I'm gonna carve it out of his skin."

"Don't you dare kill my brother again, Gabe," Sam hissed. "I mean it!" He paused. "What's he done now?"

"Nothing." Gabriel snapped. "Nothing at all. That's the problem."

* * *

"I'm not going anywhere with Gabriel." Dean tried not to yell. They were supposed to be looking for demons, not having a fucking domestic argument – he was man enough to realise that's what they were doing – in the middle of a hunt. "That asshole killed me. Multiple times! For kicks!"

"I do not understand your reluctance," Cas replied, tone flatter than ever. "You told me you wanted a break."

"That doesn't count!" Dean snapped. "Nothing I said when we were there counts!"

"So it seems."

"Don't start that."

"I am not 'starting' anything." Fucking air quotes. Dean didn't even need to turn around to see them.

"Look…" He started, but something caught his attention. "Look." He pointed. On the wall of the sewer, painted in blood – going on the flies that were buzzing around – was a warding sigil. "There."

"This is… not good, Dean." Cas said, walking towards the markings.

"No shit. What is it? I've never seen a sigil like it."

"It is Enochian," Cas said, looking at the marking on the wall. "You have something similar on your ribs. It is a complicated ritual." He looked around, as though he expected to see more. "These must surround the whole town." He pointed out. "To hide so many people from Angels… the area must be much larger than we thought."

"Is this why you can't feel anyone around?"

"Yes. These markings must be surrounding the entire area. Gabriel and I will be powerless once we pass them."

"Powerless… like… what? Can you shut the hole?"

"No."

"Fuck."

"I have no way of contacting Gabriel." Cas said, voice sounding slightly worried. "If they have not seen the sigils he will not be aware."

"And knowing him, he'll be a cocky son of a bitch and get my brother killed."

* * *

Derek knew the moment something went wrong, because all hell broke loose. The ground started to shake, and the window was suddenly surrounded with black smoke, so thick he couldn't see out at all.

The smoke seemed to want to get into the house, but wouldn't pass the lines of salt that Stiles had been so insistent to draw.

On the bed, Stiles groaned, Derek trying to focus his attention on two things at once – should this smoke get in the house he had no way to protect the groaning body on the bed. He had no idea what to do – and he felt panic build up in his throat.

The black smoke was demons. Stiles told him that. The demons needed a host. Derek was seemly immune along with his pack, but Stiles obviously wasn't. He growled, low and dangerous, feeling his wolf take over.

"Derek?" Stiles voice cut through the red rage that had descended over his mind like a fog. He sounded broken, hurt – but there was no injury. "They can't get in." Stiles voice said. "Salt. Spells."

"Are you okay?"

"Hurt. Everything hurts."

"He was inside you."

"You make it sound so dirty." Stiles tried to grin, but all that happened was another groan. Around the house, Derek could hear the roar of demon smoke push against the frame, trying to find a way in. Derek felt very exposed, something he hated.

"We're going to the basement." He snapped, grabbing Stiles and lifting him like he weighed nothing. "I don't like this. Something must have gone wrong."

* * *

"Something is wrong, Sammich!" He could hear Gabriel shout over the roar. "I'm all out of juice!"

Sam couldn't see a damn thing. His eyes were completely covered with black smoke, so thick that it had pushed him against the clammy wall of the sewer.

"Did they open the gate?" He yelled, hoping that the Angel could hear him. In the distance, he thought he could hear someone calling out, but it was obscured by the roar of demons.

"No!" Gabe shouted. "We'd be dead. Looks like Hell is open for business though!"

"Sammy!" He could clearly hear someone now, calling his name. "Sammy!"

"Dean?"

"Get the fuck out of here!" Dean called, somewhere in the distance, or closer than he seemed, Sam couldn't tell anymore. "Angels are useless. Get your ass topside."

"Gabe?" Sam called, "Gabe, you hear that?" He heard no answer. "Gabe!"

* * *

"Gabriel is missing." Cas stated, once they were standing in the street, watching as black smoke poured out of the ground, forming a giant cloud over the town.

Dean had managed to find the others, the wolves and hunters – and the few humans who were helping. Sam was still calling out, but sure enough, Gabriel was nowhere to be found.

"Maybe he poofed away?" He asked, looking at his brother whose face was a mask of misery.

"He had no access to his Grace. He couldn't have left anymore that I could have."

"Fuck."

"Dean, I cannot close this hole. I do not know how to proceed." Cas sounded worried. Really worried. "I do not know what has happened." Dean glanced over at him, standing with his beige jacket and mussed hair, eyes too blue and looking far too fragile to help **_anyone_**. He leaned forward and clasped him on the shoulder.

"It's okay. We'll work it out, yeah. Come on, this aint our first rodeo." He expected Cas to say something, something Cas-like. 'This is not a rodeo' or 'I do not understand that reference.' But he just stood there and looked back at Dean like he was holding all the answers, and fuck, Dean didn't need that kind of responsibility. "We'll work something out." He repeated.

"We should head back to the house." John, the sheriff called. "No way we'll be able to do anything with… whatever the hell this is."

* * *

Sam was freaking out. Not only had he managed to lose a fucking Archangel and (apparently) their only hope of closing this damn hole, but Dean had noticed the sigils that he'd walked right past. Castiel was okay, although worried – he could tell by the way he was almost hovering between the door and Dean, like he was ready, at any point to fly off. The smoke was out of the streets now, but hadn't left the town. The sky above them was an inky purple, lightning flashes and rumbles that were too loud to be thunder. Everyone was watching him, everyone was waiting for them to do something – and he had no idea where to start.

Stiles was awake, although wasn't much use – he kept blacking in and out of consciousness, and the wolves were forming a protective ring around him, growling at Castiel any time he even looked in their direction.

His mobile rang loudly, making a few people jump back, the sound piercing the silence that had fallen over them all.

"Hello-" was about as far as he got before he was cut off.

"You bloody idjits don't answers your phones! What's the point in havin' a phone if you aint got it on ya?" Bobby ranged over the line, voice crackling with static. "Damn fool boys!"

"I'm sorry Bobby, the signal out here is terrible." Dean was franticly mouthing over to him, waving his hands and pointing to the sky. "We've got a bit of an issue here."

"Damn right you've got an issue!" Bobby snapped as the line crackled. "Just worked it out."

"You know what's going on?"

"It's what aint going on is important." Bobby said. "Not one possession. Not one demon sighting, not one riot, not one fight. All over. Things are going back to normal."

"Bobby, I don't know if you've looked outside recently, but things here are about as far from normal as they could be right now."

"Only in that one town." Sam could hear the rustling of papers and the frantic clicking. "All these holes you've been shuttin? Turns out Castiel aint the only Angel workin with a hunter – Some feather-for-brains called Balthazar showed up at the roadhouse an pretty much stole Jo, an as far as I can see… the hole you've got there is the last one."

"That's great, Bobby, but-"

"You aint listenin, boy!" Bobby cut him off. "I aint talking about the last damn hole, I mean the last door to hell." He paused. "You close this, and aint no demons gonna be able to get out. Ever. Done. Find a new job, Sammy, cause huntin is **_done_**."

"Are you serious?"

"As taxes." Bobby said. "So they're gonna be fightin like hell on earth to keep you from closin' this down, boy – you're gonna need more an you've got – Castiel is pretty an all, but he's not got the juice for this."

"How about an Archangel?"

"That'll do it."

"Yeah." Sam nodded. "I figured you'd say that."

* * *

Dean sat in the kitchen and glared at the fridge like it had done him a great injustice. Around him, the house was silent. The wolves had taken Stiles and his father up to the room and barricaded themselves in, the Argents were in the living room, door half closed and talking in low voices, Sam was sitting on the front steps of the door, looking out over the grey town. It wasn't even late, but the sun was gone, completely obscured by the cloud of demons.

Cas was… wherever. Gone.

This was it. Close the door and… no more demons. From what Bobby said, the worst thing they'd have to deal with was the occasional ghost and a couple of monsters, Nowhere near enough to make a living off – the occasional weekend, maybe. His whole life was almost over.

He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Wasn't sure how he felt about not being… what he was. He'd tried normal, tried it with Lisa, and look how that ended up. What would happen to him? Would Sam go back to school?

Would Cas leave?

Even the thought of that was like a punch to the throat. Sam would go, Cas would go. Dean would… Dean had nowhere **_to_** go. No house, no money, no education. He'd be lucky to get a job in construction, maybe in a garage – but he'd never **_be_** something. Not at his age – not with his skills.

There was a noise behind him, just a shift in the air – too subtle for anyone to notice really, but he'd spent a lot of time listening for it.

"I cannot find him." Cas said from directly behind him. "The markings are everywhere. I am in danger of getting too close and becoming trapped."

"Try to avoid that."

"Yes, Dean."

He wasn't expecting the hand on his head, but when Cas very carefully ran his fingers through his short hair, he couldn't find it in him to pull away. They were alone in the kitchen and Dean wasn't sure how much longer Cas was going to stick around. He never really knew, but thought… if they were in danger he'd come. If they were in danger he was always **_there_**.

They weren't going to be in danger anymore, once this hole was closed and… "I brought food."

"I'm not sure if anyone is gonna eat it, Cas." Dean said, pushing his head back, further into the Angels palm. "But thanks."

He could feel the power under the Angels fingers, seeping through his body. He had nothing to fix, he knew. Back at the villa, Cas had made sure that every part of him was clicked back into place, even fixed his eyesight, so the wash of Grace through him wasn't necessary. **_Nice_**, but not necessary. He wasn't gonna tell him to stop though – because it was something Cas liked to do, and apparently, something **_Dean_** liked as well. It was warm, comforting and relaxed him down to his bones. His eyes drifted shut, head lolling back further, as the Angel flexed his fingers into Deans scalp. His other hand placed lightly over the burn on Deans shoulder, that mark that never faded, the handprint that saved him – and Dean knew then, he was utterly fucked for anyone else.

Too soon, Cas pulled away. He was on the other side of the room before Dean could even open his eyes to complain. "Why did you st-"

"Dean," Sam said, walking through. Damn, Dean thought. The last thing he wanted was his brother seeing him get a head massage from a **_guy_**. Thank fuck Cas had heard him. "Is there anything to ea-" He paused. "Hey Castiel, did you… did you find him?" His brothers voice was tight and worried. Dean hated that tone more than any of his bitch faces.

"No." Cas replied, looking away. "I brought food." He looked at Dean. "I will try again."

"Don't stay out all night." Dean cut in, then became aware of how that must sound. "Not sure who is patrolling." He added, hoping that sounded less like a stepford wife.

"Yes, Dean." Cas replied, before vanishing.

"Vegan again." Sam stated, looking at the food Cas had left. Dean shrugged, still thrumming with Grace. He didn't really care what food he'd brought. "We'll just eat something quick before going out again."

"I don't think us going out is gonna do much good, Sammy." Dean said, looking at his brother. "Maybe we should just get some sleep and look again in the morning."

"If it was Cas, you'd be out there now." Sam snapped.

"He's an Archangel, Sam! I'm pretty sure he can look after himself."

"I'm going out."

"And do what?" Dean countered. "Normally you're the one with a plan. Plan something! There's a great big fucking cloud of demon hovering over us, we've lost our only hope of closing this thing, and we haven't got a clue what to do!"

"We have to do something!"

"I'm open to options!"

"I'm not gonna just leave him there!"

* * *

The Winchesters were fighting. Stiles could hear them through the floorboards. He didn't doubt that the wolves could hear them even clearer. It sounded like they didn't have a clue what to do.

Stiles had a plan. He normally had a plan, but this time he had a **_real_** plan. The only issue was, he was currently unable to move without collapsing and his head felt like it had just been cracked open by a sledgehammer.

He knew though, that the tugging on his heart, the thread that was pulling and yanking through his soul, was important. He knew that on the other end of the tug was an Angel. Gabriel. The brightest comet in the sky, a burning ball of fire and light, crammed into a tiny, miniscule vessel.

He remembered pain. Light. Love. Honour. Devotion. The sound of his Father. Faith. Joy. Betrayal. Disappointment. So many things, such massive emotions that he couldn't even start to explain them in the mixture of burning agony.

Stiles had seen God. Looked upon the face of his Father and saw… something. Something so huge and yet so small that everything in the world hinged on it. A single grain of sand on a beach. One leave falling in the forest.

His mind wasn't able to cope with… anything. Everything. All at once. The warmth of love magnified so much it was a fire that destroyed.

Somewhere, Stiles could feel Gabriel pulling at him – miles away – right beside him – everywhere. The words of his Father. The love, the joy. Bitterness and… too much. He faded back into blackness, the sound of the First Sons arguing, the sound of Thursday calling for his brother, the Morning Star burning bright and glorious in a pit of death.

* * *

No one wanted to patrol. The whole house was in silence, like some kind of shroud had been pulled over them all. Dean was still in the kitchen, looking at a plate of steamed vegetables like he'd forgotten how to eat, The hunters in the living room were looking blankly at the TV, showing nothing but static. Whatever the wolves were doing was going on behind a closed door and Sam wasn't about to try and get anywhere near Stiles with them piled around him.

Even he was struggling, he felt like the whole world was painted in grey and black. He should be out there, but he didn't know where **_there_** was. Dean was pissed. Sam was pissed at Dean.

Ever since Bobby had told him that this was it, this was their ticket out of the hell that was their lives, Dean had been… distant. Pulling away. Sam wasn't even sure if Dean **_wanted_** to close the gate. All Sam wanted was Gabriel to be back. It wasn't a good sign that he'd not shown up. If something could lock away an Archangel they were pretty much screwed.

* * *

"Dementors." Dean muttered, looking at his food. It was still hot. It shouldn't be, it had been on his plate for the better part of two hours. "Fucking Harry Potter bullshit."

"You've noticed, then?" A voice said from behind him. Lydia, the pretty red-head who looked at him like she should scrape him off her shoe. Twice.

"Yeah."

"Everyone is sitting about looking off into the distance." She sat down. "Where's your boyfriend?"

"He's not my boyfriend." Dean said, picking at the food on his plate.

"Whatever. Where is he?"

"Looking for Gabriel." Dean muttered. He really didn't know how to treat this girl. She was too young and too old at the same time.

"He's been funky since you got back from…" She waved her hand at him. "The sun."

"Greece."

"Oh! Was in nice?"

"Yeah."

"I'm planning on traveling Europe." She announced. "In style, of course. Peter can afford it."

"He's a little old for you, isn't he?"

"Your dating an Angel. I'm sure you win with the older man thing." She shrugged and held her hand up before he could say anything. "And he did try to kill me once, drive me crazy and force me to bring him back from the dead, so I'm pretty sure he owes me big time." She glanced at her cuticles. "He's always… odd. Right now he's odder than normal, and I know something is up."

"End of the world."

"I'm not an idiot." She replied smoothly. "I was able to figure that much out on my own. What's with the sudden depression that's causing everyone to turn into zombies?"

"You don't seem to be affected."

"I'm immune. To, like, everything." She tossed her red curls dramatically. "Including the charm of men who are seriously overcompensating with the flirting."

"I'm not gay."

"Yeah, you kinda are." She held up her hand. "Not judging! Good for you, bagging an Angel. Seriously, though, get your head out of your ass." She glanced around the room as though she expected Cas to show up at any point. "Your big gay midlife crisis is going to have to wait though, because I think your brother might beat you to it."

"Look, Sam isn't gay, I'm not gay. We're not gay."

"I'm immune to bullshit too." She smirked.

* * *

**_Thanks for all your well wishes about meeting my guildmate. We had a great time and I was super pleased to put a face to a voice!_**

**_I hope you like todays chapter – Gone and lost the Archangel, Stiles is seeing God (kinda) and Lydia is always awesome. _**

**_I know that there isn't a lot of smut, but it really just doesn't go right with the story. Normally I have a lot more smut, so I'll try to work more in for ya!_**

**_I just don't wanna always be about Destiel (I'm obsessed!) Sam and Gabe just aren't there yet and Stiles brain is melting... so ... yeah. I'll try to work it out. _**

**_Also, I've been doing some little ficlets over on Tumblr (around 500 words a pop) and I'm just taking ideas and writing them out for people. If you want to suggest something, just leave me a message on Tumblr and I'll write it._**

**_I manage to do a couple a night, so... yeah, knock yourself out and say hi!_**


	17. Chapter 17

Stiles eyes snapped open. Around him, he could feel the press of bodies, too warm – not human. His mind was buzzing, throbbing – clear as crystal and sharper than a razor. He sat up, careful not to wake the pack who were wrapped around him, piled on the bed like discarded coats at a party. Around them he saw… lights, softly flickering around them as they slept.

His feet were bare on the thick plush carpet, conjured by Gabriel, and his steps made no sound. He could see Castiel, not sleeping, but paying the world no attention – his focus completely on the sleeping hunter. Stiles could see suddenly, that Dean was a vessel – the space inside of him that could be filled by an Archangel, and how much Castiel burned at the thought of that, a fire too bright to look at. He could see the mark on Deans shoulder bright and warm, through layers of clothing. Could see his soul, fierce and hot and stitched together.

He was asleep, soothed by the hand on his hip, Grace sweeping through his body as Castiels essence wrapped around him protectively.

Stiles walked like he was in a dream, soft and gentle and seeing everything for the first time. His father was asleep too – soothing light around him. He was seeing souls.

The hallway was dark, but Stiles could see everything like it was day, knew what he was looking for, following a gold thread that pulled and tugged.

Sam Winchester sat in the kitchen, looking at his laptop which cast an eerie glow over his skin, another Vessel, another space for an Archangel to climb inside. Stiles hated that, hated it and burned with fury – Sam had been through enough. They had all been through too much – and Stiles just wanted it to be **_over_**.

"Sam?" He asked, and smiled at the way the giant of a man nearly launched himself into the air.

"Your awake!" He smiled, warm eyes, white teeth – a smile for every emotion.

"Not really." Stiles said, walking around the table. "Still here, not here, everywhere."

"Gabriel?"

"No. Just Stiles. But more. Less. I don't know." Words weren't enough to express how he was feeling. He felt like he could see everything all at once, through the walls, down the street. A golden thread hooked around his soul and tugging. "Feel like I'm on too much… something. Drugs, sleep. Pick two, times by the moon, back down and turn three times." It made sense to him, how things were linked and bound to each other, but he could see that Sam didn't understand. "I saw God." He smiled, then felt the warmth of tears on his face. "He saw me."

He could see Sam was worried, and wanted to sooth him, reach out and hold him, but those weren't his feelings, not his bright, burning need. "I have things in me that aren't mine." He admitted.

"I know." Sam knew – of course – Stiles saw it. The space in Dean had never been used, but Sam had traces of a light lingering on the edges, sharp like pain and fear. "It fades."

"Not really." Stiles said, sitting on the chair beside Sam. He wanted to crawl into his lap, hold tight. Was that him? Were those **_his_** wants?

"No. Not really." Sam agreed. "But you'll soon see things normally. Takes a while to… to get back to normal."

"I know." Stiles tried to explain. "I know… everything. I saw God. I saw his plan. I can't…" his voice trailed off, distant. "I can't explain."

"What was it like?" And Stiles knew that Sam had not had the vision – didn't **_see_** like he'd **_seen_**.

"Huge. Small. Too much all at once. Pain, and love." He paused. "Everything rests on one thing, so small, so little – but huge, too much." He shrugged. "I know it all. Saw what needs to happen, how everything needs to work." He glanced around the room, seeing the pain, the hurt, the fear that lingered from the past. The hope and comfort of now – the love that wasn't there yet, but soon.

"You sound…" Sam waved a hand. "Not like Stiles."

"Not like myself. Himself. Ourselves." Stiles agreed. "Trying to grip the edges of me." He paused. "The edges. People. Around the edges. The Morning Star in the middle. The Messenger trapped. Swords ready?" He asked, looking at Sam, needing him to understand. "Sword? Are you ready?"

"Shit." Sam said, standing up, looking at him like he suddenly understood. "Shit."

* * *

"What the fuck do you mean, he's a **_prophet_**?" Dean was arguing, pissed at being woken up by Sam. Furious that he'd been pulled out of the best sleep he'd ever had, warm and wrapped up in Cas like a blanket. "I thought you said you knew all the prophets?"

"It's only temporary." Cas replied, watching Stiles with interested eyes. Dean really didn't like the fact that his Angel was watching the pale kid like he was holding all the answers. Didn't like the fact that as soon as Sam had woken them that Cas had pulled back and hadn't even looked at him. Too interested in the kid now.

"Sword? Are you ready?" Stiles asked him, and Dean resisted the urge to recoil.

"I'm not a fucking sword. I'm a person." He snapped.

"Yes." Stiles nodded. "Sharp enough to cut where it hurts. A blade for all time – sheathed in Grace." The kid seemed to sway slightly, leaning heavily on the Alpha, who looked just as lost as Dean felt. "Sorry. Trying to be myself, holes in the middle."

"It will fade." Cas soothed, leaning forward and ignoring the growl from the wolves as his fingers ran over Stiles forehead.

"Jesus, Cas!" Dean snapped, "Personal space!"

"First Sons. Silver Daggers." Stiles said, grabbing Castiels hand and holding tightly. "Moon Runners. Purity. Prophet. Shield Barer." He looked around. "Thursday. All **_here_**."

"It's Friday, Stiles." His father said, worry etched on his face. Jesus, Dean had no fucking clue what was going on.

"Thursday." Stiles repeated, looking with gold flecked eyes at Cas.

"Yes." His Angel nodded. "I am Thursday."

"Close the door. Morning Star in the middle." He said, voice breaking. "Messenger. Collect the message."

"I sure as hell hope this is making sense to someone." Dean snapped. Cas was still touching Stiles, fingers ghosting along his forehead, and Dean wondered if he was trying to soothe the teenager, slip him some Grace. Why that felt like a punch to the gut, he didn't know. Didn't want to think about it at **_all_**.

"It's a prophecy." Cas murmured. "To close the gates of hell forever."

"So, get this - Moon Runners." Sam suddenly spoke, voice higher than normal – excited like a puppy. Typical Sam to think that a teenage kid getting hit by some prophet mojo was cool. "**_Werewolves_**. Silver Daggers – isn't Argent… silver? They're hunters, so… silver daggers."

"First Sons?" John asked, eyes fixed on his son, paler and more fragile looking than before. Poor guy, not only does his kid have a crush the size of the State of Texas on a werewolf, he's a vessel for an Archangel and apparently a prophet in his spare time. Jesus, Dean thought **_he_** had it bad.

"That's us." Sam said, pointing to himself and nodding at Dean. "Don't ask. Castiel is the Angel of Thursday," He added, looking about. Dean had forgotten about that. Angel of Thursdays and Travel, he'd told Dean once. He'd been pretty proud of that. "I've got no idea what a Shield Barer is. Or Purity – but I'm guessing **_Stiles_** is the prophet."

Dean glared at his brother. "What the fuck are you talking about, Sam? Have you been drinking the cool aid? Jesus, the kid is talking gibberish!"

"Sword of Michael." Stiles suddenly cut over him. "Fireworks in the dark. Hey Jude. Salt water kisses." He paused "Thanks, Sammy, I love it."

"Shut up." He snapped. The kid was still talking, memories flashing over Dean like a wave with every word. His mom singing, the taste of Cas and the ocean on his lips, Fourth of July fireworks with Sam. Christmas. "Just shut up, okay?"

"I'm pure." Lydia suddenly said, throwing Isaac a dark look when he scoffed. "Fuck you, Lahey." She shot back. "I'm immune, so… pure." She waved a hand over at the sheriff. "Shield Barer, his **_badge_**? God, seriously? You plan on saving the world and you can't put two and two together?" She looked around the room. "Okay, so Stiles is wired up to some greater power. You need a plan. Get me a map, get me a pen, and unless you're part of the prophecy, get **_out_**."

* * *

There were so many things that could go wrong, Sam knew. So many little things that could just get fucked up and he could see them playing in front of his vision in bright Technicolor. They were all going to die.

"Don't worry, Sammich." Stiles said, standing at his side, small and thin – skin so pale he almost glowed. "One little thing, and it's all going to be **_fine_**."

"I'd feel a lot better if you told me what the one little thing was." He countered. It was like talking to Gabriel, Castiel, Stiles and something else… all at once. All he got was a smile in reply. Sam was sure Stiles would tell them, help them, try to make sure they were all prepared – but whatever else was going on inside of him was stopping that part for getting through. Something small. Something huge. He could remember what Stiles had said, before the prophet took over. Something so small but too much, and damned if he knew what it was.

They were standing in a street, a street that they'd patrolled on before – it didn't look any different, but Stiles had stopped dead in his tracks and wouldn't go any further. So they were waiting. For actual divine intervention.

"Three drops of purity, two spots of silver and a blood red door to open." Stiles said, sounding a lot more like Stiles than before. "Get to it."

"Ah, great. I get to bleed all over the street." Lydia said, rolling her eyes at the same time she pulled out a knife from Peters belt, slicing a mark up her arm like it was nothing. She held the blade out and counted. "One, two, Three. Okay – either Allison or Chris, chop chop."

Chris, the Argent, pulled his own knife and did the same, blood falling on top of the droplets under Lydia's blade. Castiel walked forward, and, with a single finger, drew a mark Sam had never seen before. Down the street, Sam could hear metal grinding, shifting painfully sharp, before a drain cover in the middle of the road shattered.

"Down we go." Stiles smiled.

* * *

Sam was lost. He'd managed to get turned around in the maze that Stiles had lead them into, and was completely lost. He had the demon knife in his hand, which was the only reason he'd managed to avoid being killed when he'd rounded a corner and come face to face with a group of possessed businessmen. He was making sure that he didn't get taken by surprise again, going slower and making sure he listened for anything that could give away the position of a lurking demon. So far he'd seen only rats, but there was a light coming from somewhere – and he was heading towards it with deadly intent.

Whatever it was, soon it would be faced with one pissed off Winchester. "Dean, I swear to God, you better be sticking to that kid like glue." He muttered under his breath.

* * *

They had managed, somehow, to get separated. Dean glared at Cas, who was still trying to say he was sorry for not being able to mojo them back to the others. The sigils were painted everywhere, it wasn't like he was doing it on purpose.

"Cas, quit it, okay. We just got turned around. All we need to do is get back to the others before all hell breaks loose."

"I do not understand!" Cas continued, like Dean hadn't even spoken. "We were not so far behind them."

"I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that something is trying to keep us separated." Dean said, stopping when he heard something in the darkness. A whimper.

Signalling to Cas to shut his mouth, he crept forward. The sounds were closer now, like a constant noise, thrumming through the underground tunnels. He pulled out his shotgun and looked back at Cas, his Angel sword glinted in the dark. Pointing at the corner, he signalled that he would go first, mouthing for the Angel to cover him in case. Cas nodded, face a mask of Angelic calm. Even without his mojo, there was no one else Dean would trust as much to watch his back.

Dean took a breath and rounded the corner, gun steady, and swore when he saw what was there.

* * *

Stiles wasn't exactly sure where they were. It was so dark that even Derek was having trouble seeing, and when they could make out shapes… they were alone.

"Fuck." He said, looking around. The golden thread that he'd been blindly following was gone, his mind was his own, with only a pressure in the back, like someone leaning gently on his head. "I've got good news and bad news."

Derek didn't say anything, just watched him with worried red eyes. He'd wolfed out almost as soon as they'd gotten underground. "The good news is – Hey! I'm Stiles!" He grinned, spreading his arms wide. "The bad news is… I've got no clue what's going on."

Derek looked actually relieved. "Dude, seriously, don't be looking like this is a good thing! I knew what I needed to do – and now I'm lost underground with a bunch of demons who want to set Lucifer free! This is not a good time for you to be looking relieved. This is time for the pissy face of death!" He paused. "Our death. Oh my God – we're all gonna **_die_** down here. This is that movie. We've gone and split up. I'm probably fine." He remembered. "Being the only virgin around, but you're all so fucked." He looked around. "Do you know anything about killing demons? I got a crash course in exorcisms, but I mean… I'm really not up on killing people. Not that you are!" He added, quickly, "But you know, wolfy-powers kinda help you out there. I saw God, by the way. He's got a beard and he's totally awesome." Stiles blinked. "And he liked me. God liked me." He looked at Derek. "Does that mean I get a nice heaven when we're all brutally murdered down here?"

He was expecting Derek to tell him to shut up, stop talking – something, but he looked happy enough to listen for now. Stiles couldn't have stopped talking anyway – his mind was whirring like a jet engine. He felt like he'd taken far too many of his pills and he was flying through thoughts like Iron Man on steroids. "I'm perfectly okay with dying if I think I get a good Heaven. I got the idea that Gabriel wasn't really happy he was in me. I thought maybe that was a bad thing, but I think he just didn't want to be in me." He glanced at Derek. "Does this mean I'm not a virgin? I've had an Angel in me. A guy angel. I've had my cherry popped by the Messenger of God." He looked around the dark tunnel. "I'm pretty sure that makes me his bitch."

"Shut up Stiles." Derek snapped.

"I'm the twink. Great. I kinda thought you, know – that I'd get to top, every now and then, but I can't see Angels being all that keen on being bottom."

"Stiles!" Derek snapped. "Shut up. I'm pretty sure it wasn't gay Angel sex."

"It might have been." Stiles replied, although he knew it hadn't been anything good at all. Not the pain. Not the burning light and too much everything. "He's into guys, and… you know, he likes me a **_lot_**."

Derek glared, red eyes almost glowing in the dark. Stiles grinned, loving that Derek looked furious. Maybe even a little jealous. Okay, so it hadn't been his plan to have Gabe jump into his **_skin_**, but whatever worked – Derek was definitely looking jealous. He'd have to remember to tell Gabe it worked, you know, if they lived. He'd made Derek jealous. He just hoped that Sam had gotten a little green around the gills too, because damn – Gabe had it hard. Even with all the pain and the burning, Stiles could remember that. The leftover parts of Gabriel in his soul had wanted to curl up and snuggle into the giant.

Stiles was too busy thinking about…everything… to notice the slightly change in noises, but Derek, still wolfed out and looking utterly furious was on top form as he leapt over Stiles head and launched himself at the demon who appeared from the shadows.

Stiles rattled off an exorcism spell as fast as he could, black smoking pouring out of the humans body until it went limp. Almost as soon as the smoke left, Stiles saw that what was left was… dead. Had been dead for a **_long_** time as far as he could see.

Something pulled on the edge of his mind, a familiar tug. "I think we need to go this way." He told Derek, walking forward. "Something… this way. Yup. But… you know… better if you go first, Mr Wolf." He grinned. "Because my, what **_big_** teeth you have!" He smirked.

"All the better to eat you with." Derek snarled.

"Promises, promises."

* * *

"Fuck." Dean whispered, pulling back, slamming Cas back into the wall with a curse, pulling him out of the sight of what he'd really hoped wasn't there.

"Those are **_people_**." Cas said, sounding surprised. "They have not been possessed."

There were demons too though, walking back and forth. If Dean hadn't noticed them, they'd have been over-run in moments. Guarding people who were far too terrified to try to run.

"People around the edges." Dean nodded. "Fucking kid **_told_** Sam." He looked at Cas and frowned. "Forgot to mention the **_bombs_** strapped to their chests, though."

Bombs. The stuff Dean knew about bombs wasn't even enough for a fucking footnote on a page of his dad's journal. Everything he knew was from movies – crappy, inaccurate movies with chicks in tight uniforms or guys who shot first and didn't even **_try_** to ask questions.

"Please tell me you are actually a pretty good bomb disposal expert in your spare time." Dean commented.

"No, Dean."

"Figures."

* * *

Sam was working his way around, killing everything he could find. There were scores of demons patrolling this part, he must have killed at least 50 so far, pulling the corpses away from what seemed to be the main 'patrol' area. By the looks of things, they were guarding whatever was throwing off all the light, shining brightly like a new sun underground. Once he'd cut a path through them, he got close enough to the tunnel they were circling, he saw what it was.

Or who.

Gabriel was pinned to the clammy wall of the sewer, sigils and markings all over the place – covering every space. Sam couldn't even believe what he was seeing as he stood there – looking at the Archangel crucified to the wall, thick iron spikes through his arms and feet – giant wings stretched out, nailed into the stone.

* * *

Stiles was pretty sure they weren't in the sewers anymore. He was pretty sure sewers weren't this deep. He was pretty sure they weren't this… "Are we in hell? This looks like hell. This isn't a sewer. This is… dude, these are **_not_** sewers." He was almost clinging to Derek's back, hands fisted in the leather jacket.

"_No, these are not sewers_." A polite, urbane voice said in the darkness. Derek spun around, but there was no one there.

"Fuck." Stiles whined. "Fuck, we're dead."

"_Not yet_." The voice responded. "_Perhaps not at all_."

"Who are you?" Derek growled dangerously, "Where are you?"

_"I am everywhere. All the time. I am Death_."

"We **_are_** dead." Stiles realised. "That was actually pretty painless. Okay… so this isn't heaven either. Did God not like me as much as I thought?" He paused. "Shit, did Derek drag me to hell?"

"_You are not dead_." The voice didn't sound amused. Didn't sound like anything really, just… polite. Calm. "_I walk with you, though. Just in case, Prophet_."

"Just in case, what? In case I die?" He looked at Derek and frowned. "That's really not super reassuring, dude."

"_It is not my place to comfort you_." Death's voice said.

They were being followed by Death. This was not great news. "Why are you following us?"

"_You seek to close the gate. You are almost upon the doors, and this I must see_." The voice paused. "_Call it professional curiosity_."

Stiles could tell Derek was about to ask something, but they rounded the corner and Stiles walked right into his back, face crammed into the leather of his jacket as he tried to correct himself before falling over. "Dude, what the…" He looked round the wolf and felt his heart stop. Oh fuck. Stiles thought. Oh fuck _fuck_ **_fuck_**.

In front of them was a door, both there and not there, shifting between the eyes and light. Huge iron bars – solid stone. It could have been the door to Mordor. There wasn't a lock. Arms were leaning on the bars, almost relaxed. A hand waved, good-naturedly.

"Hey! **_Mikey_**, Daddy sent the cavalry – a monster and a teenage boy. I bet you feel so vindicated. **_Loved_**, even."

Fuck. They'd found the cage.

* * *

**_Happy Tuesday!_**

**_Hope everyone managed to get through Monday okay, and here – have some plot!_**

**_Oh noes! Everyone is split up! Stiles knows well enough that's how you end up DEAD in most things._**

**_Sam found the Angel, Dean found some bombs, and Stiles found the Devil._**

**_All in all, they've been a bit busy this chapter._**

**_I'm trying not to rush the climax (_**_oh, so many jokes to be had there__**) but the majority of the plot is starting to come to a head (**__more jokes, damn, I'm on fire today!)__** so… I have a question.**_

**_Would you like the story to finish with the usual 'And then the day was saved, the end!' tied up in a nice neat bow, or would you prefer like… 'And here is a chapter or two (or more!) with like… what life is like' after the main plot?_**

**_The only reason I ask is cause if I know now I'll know what to tie up faster, and what I can let slide for a bit. _**

**_Let me know!_**

**_Huggles!_**


	18. Chapter 18

"Fuck." Dean repeated, hearing the footsteps near the hiding spot he'd crammed Cas into. Without his mojo, Cas was a sitting duck, and Dean didn't know what to do. Start ganking demons here, they'd **_never_** get back to the rest of the group.

And Dean was pretty sure that Stiles had been all 'First Sons' and not 'But in a pinch Sam'll do okay on his own' because that would have been too much like good news. To make matters worse, he was now having to deal with something else.

There were hundreds of people. Hundreds. These weren't the sewers under the town any longer, he'd figured that much out on his own, and Cas had confirmed it with a touch to the walls. They were in a pocket of reality between the two layers. Oh, sure enough, if the bombs went off, the town would be blown into something resembling a crater on the moon – but it would also do the same to a large portion of hell. A pocket between Earth and Hell. Great. Dean had enough of hell to last him a lifetime. Two lifetimes.

Someone whimpered.

Fuck. He couldn't let these people die, no matter how shitty the odds were. Maybe they could save some of them before the bombs went off. Maybe they could do something. **_Anything_**. Dean had already seriously screwed his karma with all the shit he'd done – Christ, he'd almost fucked an **_Angel_** – so a little heroic saving would probably even some of that out. He might not get the prime seat upstairs when he died, but he hoped that he'd not get tossed back down to hell.

All of this flashed through his mind in a matter of seconds, and he knew, when the demon stepped too close to Castiels hiding place, what he needed to do. Pulling the knife out of his belt, he took two small steps behind him and – one hand on his forehead and the other covering his mouth, slit the hosts throat.

"Cas, we can't leave these people here."

"Yes, Dean." Cas agreed, "I was waiting for you to realise that."

"Got a plan?"

"No."

"**_Awesome_**."

* * *

It wasn't a room, just a concave part of a tunnel, but it had choke points and Sam was making the most of the decomposing bodies that the demons had been using. He had them piled up at the narrowest part, praying under his breath that it would take the remaining demons longer to figure out that their numbers were lower than they thought.

He didn't have the time to make sure it was perfect, abandoning the job as soon as he could. Gabriel was throwing off a light so bright that it hurt his eyes to look at him, and the corpses around him told testament that although he didn't have his Angel mojo working – his true form was still able to burn out your eyes.

"Gabe!" Sam whispered, urgently. "Gabriel, dude, come on, you need to wake up."

The pins in his arms and feet looked painful, but the iron spikes that were holding his wings (fucking **_wings_**!) in place were making Sam feel like puking his guts up. "Please don't fry me." He whispered, grabbing the first spike that was nailed through feather and bone – and pulled. It took longer than he'd hoped. Three spikes in each wing, and once they were free, they hung lifeless and prone on the floor, twisted and broken. Gabriel hadn't so much as moved.

The extra weight of the wings was pulling harder at the spike that were pinning Gabriel to the wall. Sam could already see the blood starting to run faster from the wounds.

"So, I bet this isn't the way you thought it would go, huh?" Sam muttered, pulling the spike out of Gabriel's feet and trying to left the dead weight of his body onto his hips to take some pressure off the spikes in his arms, blood and feathers on his hands as he tried to pull out the spike from his left arm.

"Not how I wanted my legs wrapped around you, Sammy-baby." Gabriel's voice croaked, and Sam nearly dropped the Messenger of God at the shock of hearing his voice.

"I'm here to save you." Sam said, pulling the last spike out of his left arm. Gabriel smirked, blood on his teeth, head turning to look at his other arm, still pinned in place.

"My hero." He tried, but his voice was distant and dry. "I think you might be a bit late."

"Nah." Sam grinned, smiling though he could see that the Angel might be right. "I just stopped for some food before I arrived."

"Can't have you working on an empty stomach, Sammy." Gabe nodded, voice little more than a breath.

"Well, I'm a growing boy, right?" Sam agreed. For the first time not hating that Gabriel called him by that stupid name Dean was so fond of. "Gabe, right?" He asked, but there was no reply.

* * *

Stiles looked at the Devil in the cage and tried not to freak the fuck out. Yup, Devil. He was looking at the **_Devil_**. Who was looking right back at him with a slightly amused expression that made Stiles feel like a bug.

Derek was trying to shield him from sight, but, really, what was the point? Stiles knew right then that he was already dead.

It was just a matter of time now.

"So, Gabriel went and got himself some new clothes!" Lucifer grinned at him. "Shame about the size, but hey! Size isn't **_everything_**, right?" He winked. "Just goes to show, the little shit actually managed to get one over on me. I really thought I'd killed him."

Derek was growling, a low, constant thrum through his body as he tried to keep Stiles as far away from the cage as possible. The door to hell – the actual door to HELL – was open, and Stiles could smell things he really didn't want to think about, and hear things he knew he'd be hearing for the rest of his life. Which, admittedly, was looking to not be for much longer.

If he was going to try to close it, he would need to walk past the cage. Walk past Lucifer – the DEVIL – and the other person in there, the one who wasn't speaking and who looked like he'd like to rip his own skin off right about the same time he ripped **_Stiles_** skin off.

"Oh, your boyfriend is **_pissed_**." Lucifer grinned. "Hey, I'm not the one who got all freaky with your jailbaits insides." He said, voice sounding slightly self-righteous. "All I want is my own little Winchester back." He peered around Derek to look at Stiles. "You brought him here, though, didn't you?" He grinned. "Of course you did. Did you bring Dean?"

"No." Stiles bit out.

"Oh, he brought them both!" Lucifer crowed, shooting a glance over at the other person in the prison. "You hear that, Mike? He brought the Righteous Man and the Skin of the Devil right up to the doors of hell." He looked back at Stiles. "Well, don't keep us in suspense!" He cooed. "Come on boys! Out you come." He tried to look around them, his view from the cage pretty restricted.

Stiles realised that he thought they were keeping out of sight, keeping away from the gate, lurking in the darkness.

"They aren't here."

"Yes, they are." Lucifer smirked. "You don't bring my body into hell and think I wouldn't notice."

"I didn't say they weren't here." Stiles pointed out. "I said they weren't **_here_**." He waved a hand around the room.

"You lost my sword?" The guy in the back suddenly roared. "You brought it into hell and you lost it?"

"I'm gonna say… He lost himself." Stiles shot back. Fuckit, he was gonna die anyway, lets piss of the Devil and his Roommate. "I knew I should have put a bell on him, but you know how it is." He shot a look at the Devil and shrugged. "I'm sure his boyfriend'll keep him safe though."

"Now I know you're lying." The man in the back grinned. It wasn't a nice smile. "Dean Winchester is a lot of things, but he is **_not_** a sodomite."

"Dude, he went to Greece with an Angel for some boomchicckabowmbowm. He's got sunburn in places that make me wince." Stiles found himself saying. "He spends his nights all wrapped up in Thursdays grace, which is pretty damn intimate, and you can cut the sexual tension with a knife. Don't get me started on the gazing longingly at one another. I'm pretty sure he's as gay as they get."

"What Angel?" Lucifer asked, suddenly not looking too happy. He paused. "**_Thursday_**?" he spluttered, then started laughing, a disturbingly human sound. "Castiel?" He crowed, looking over at the other guy, who looked like he was going to throw up. "Cassie, Cassie!" He wheezed. "**_Castiel_** went and got jiggy with your vessel!"

"Yeah." Stiles agreed. "Sorry about that, I thought you knew." He looked over at the cage. "I just kinda assumed they were both gay for Angels."

"Sammy just likes the demons." Lucifer grinned, still throwing his roommate shit eating grins. "And since they are my own creation, I take that as a twisted sort of compliment."

"And Gabe, obviously."

"Who?" He wasn't laughing now.

"Gabe, the one who got all 'freaky with my jailbait insides' and I'm telling you – dude… that Winchester _rocked my world_." His hands were fisted so tight into the leather of Derek's jacket he thought he might actually rip through it. "I mean, the guy is big **_all_** over, you know? You could bounce a quarter off his ass." He tried to remember the way Gabe smiled when he talked about Sam. "Samsquatch really, **_really,_** likes your brother, you know? No matter **_what_** vessel he's in." He paused. "I limped for days." He added for good measure, not sure why he thought that was a good idea. It just seemed like the right thing to do. Piss off the Devil before he killed them both. Make him really fucking **_angry_**.

"Shut your maggot mouth." The devil spat out, and Stiles figured it wasn't much fun to think that what was essentially your body… kinda… having sex with your brother. Who **_knew_** it was your body. Okay, that was kinda gross. He really didn't need to think about that. He was his own person, not some… Angel suit. Sam wasn't the Devil. He had big sad eyes and white teeth and (it **_was_** true) an ass that you could probably bounce a quarter off.

"Hey, dude, I'm sorry, but you know… Things happen for a reason. I mean… I get why Mr Pissy in the corner got Dean, right? You're Michael, God's own special little snowflake – and Deans got this great big huge… **_soul_**…" Yeah, he might have made that as lewd sounding as possible, "That Angels just love. And well, who **_wouldn't_** want to get into Sam Winchester, right?" He grinned. "But you know why Gabe got me?"

"He's got no fucking taste?"

"Thanks, but no." Stiles grinned through the insult and feeling bolder by the second, stepping out from behind Derek, who really wasn't happy about that. "At first I thought, you know, guy just really liked me." He wandered over to the gate. "But then I had a little chat with your Dad, you know?" He grinned. "And He explained it a little."

There was no mistaking the look on Lucifer's face. Half way between mockery and fear. Michael wasn't any different.

"You," Michael pointed directly at him. "Are a lying piece of clay." Stiles wondered if that was the worst insult an Angel could think of. Pretty lame.

"Yeah, normally, yeah." Stiles admitted. "I told so many lies to my dad I'm not sure he'll ever believe a word out of my mouth ever again, but you know the really interesting thing? I'm not the **_only_** person in the room who lied to their Father, huh?" He laughed, suddenly feeling the closeness of his own death. Yeah, he wasn't getting out of this one alive, was he?

"Poor Gabe, he got stuck with me. Why?" Stiles grinned. "I'm a lot like him. Love food, talk too much, fondness for daytime TV and a really nasty habit of opening my mouth before engaging my brain. That and occasionally, I do something really fucking stupid that'll get me killed."

The door to hell wasn't much of a door. It looked more like a stone and metal wall that had been shoved open, and there was no handle. The only way it was going to shut was if someone on the other side pushed it closed. Then prayed to God that something would **_keep_** it closed, because as much as he'd told Lucifer otherwise… he was still a virgin. Which was the only thing aside from Grace that could shut the door, which they were distinctly lacking.

And really, he knew when he arrived.

It was a one way trip.

He leapt, diving through and slamming his back into the door, Derek hammering on the other side, the screams of two royally pissed off Archangels suddenly cut off when the last door to Hell sealed shut.

Stiles was good at stupid decisions.

* * *

Dean was good at stupid decisions, so when the first demon hit the ground, he didn't waste any time. Cas and his Angel sword were pretty badass even without his batteries charged, and Dean was left with trying to get the people out. Without blowing them all to hell. Literally.

"Okay!" He called out. "You need to listen to me, really, really carefully." As hundreds of bloodshot eyes looked at him he felt pretty exposed, especially since Cas was kicking ass behind him. "We're here to get you out. But if you start to panic, we're all dead. So just… really, really slowly, do what I tell you."

"Are you… one of those things?" Someone asked, voice rough with tears and fear. "One of those terrorists?"

"No." Dean replied. "But I'm also not a bomb disposal expert, so you need to be really careful." He paused. "The rest of my team are out there, and the local sheriff."

"Thank God."

"Oh, thank you Jesus."

The news was traveling down the mass of people, and all Dean could hear in his ears were prayers. He sure hoped someone was listening.

"Okay, I'm gonna cut these ropes around your hands and feet." Dean told the woman in front of him. "Then, very carefully, I'm gonna pull this vest off you." And pray that it's not wired up to explode if I touch it, he added in his head. "When I do, I want you to stay very still."

She was nodding, eyes never leaving him, although he knew behind him the bodies were piling up fast. Cas didn't even sound like he was out of breath.

The ropes were tight, and his knife nicked the skin on her wrists more than once as he cut her loose. The smell, this close, was horrible. He didn't know how long they had been held like this, packed close and terrified to move – days at least. All he could smell was sweat and piss. "I'm sorry." He whispered, as she let out a small gasp of pain.

"Dean, you must hurry." Cas urged. "I believe that they are aware we are here."

"Fuck fuck fuck." He hissed, finally sawing through the cord. "Okay, lady, here we go. Just like a kid, okay, hands to the celling, and we'll put this off."

It was actually pretty easy to get the vest off. Looks like they'd gone for a 'once size fits all' rather than fitting each vest personally. Thank fuck for that.

Once she was free, the woman pulled away, tripped, stumbled – legs numb from standing for days without moving. "Careful. Okay, careful." Dean soothed, turning to the next person.

"Give me a knife." She said, suddenly.

"What? Lady, you need to get out of here."

"Give me a knife, I can help."

Dean carefully put the vest down, and handed her the small switch blade he kept in his boot. "Thanks."

"My daughter is here." She said, voice weak and shaking but strong like steel at the same time. "Somewhere. She's only 14."

"We're going to get everyone out of here." Dean said. "**_Everyone_**."

Which, was – he knew – the worst thing to say, because as soon as the words passed his lips, the lights on the vests started flash.

* * *

Isaac kicked out at the Demon with all his strength, crushing its skull. Although the Demons were stronger than regular people, they weren't stronger than a werewolf – and the bodies they were riding had been dead for too long, bones and flesh were softer, easier to break.

The Argents had abandoned their guns and bows pretty early on – after all, they had no effect on the demons, hardly even slowing them down – and had resorted to hand-to-hand combat. Breaking necks and cutting throats was not something Isaac ever thought he'd be doing, but he was covered in black, congealed blood and everything was fucked up.

They'd found people, tied up in neat rows, bombs wired to vests. Lydia and the sheriff were cutting them loose as Isaac and Boyd, along with the Argents, tried to keep the wave upon wave of Demons from getting close enough to stop them.

"Just run!" Lydia snapped, pointing down the tunnel. "There's a ladder down that tunnel, it'll take you up to the street."

They had managed to get at least 50 people out, the pile of vests building up pretty high, when suddenly they all started to flash, little pin pricks of light filling up the tunnel.

"Well, that's not a good sign." Peter quipped, looking around. "I think it's time for us to leave."

"I'm not leaving." Lydia ground out. "I'm not letting them win."

"You really are rather glorious." He smiled, Isaac assumed it would be softly, if he wasn't completely wolfed out, teeth extended.

"Yes," She tossed her hair. It didn't bounce as much as normal, sweat, blood and worse clinging to the red strands, but it didn't matter. "I am."

* * *

The demons had noticed the piles of bodies stacked up, and Sam could hear them debating pulling them down or going around the other side.

He was sitting on the cold, wet floor, blood soaked into his clothes – back leaning against the wall, chin resting on the top of Gabriel's head.

He'd pulled the body onto his lap, easy to do because he really was a lot smaller than you'd think – but hard too, because those wings were massive and hard to manoeuvre without them making horrible grinding sounds. He'd folded them up as best he could, using them to wrap around Gabe's body and just… sat there, holding him.

It wasn't the first time that Gabriel had died. It was, however, the first time Sam felt like he'd truly seen an Angel. Wings. He figured it was the wings – huge, massive – at least twice the length of the Angels body – they must have been a nightmare to carry around if he had them out. They would probably have trailed along the ground. It might have looked a little funny.

They didn't look funny now.

The feathers looked… well… like feathers. Light brown, almost the same colour as Gabriel's hair. They were soft, but firm, and didn't feel that much different from bird feathers. Just bigger.

"This kinda sucks, Gabe." He said, looking around. It was still easy to see, because the twisted, limp wings were throwing off light like they had been before – only it shattered and fragmented now – like looking through a broken mirror. "I was starting to look forward to that vacation." He smiled. "I always wanted to see Rome, or maybe Hong Kong." He grinned. "Or a cruise. Dean would probably get bored on a boat, but I think it'd be pretty cool."

He wondered if Dean had managed to get to the gate, managed to shut it. He'd know soon, he figured. Everything had an urgent feel to it. But whatever was going to happen, it was going to happen without Sam Winchester. He wasn't going to leave Gabriel.

Even if Gabriel had already gone.

* * *

**_Yeah._**

**_Sorry. _**

**_I may have just killed everyone._**

**_In other news, should any characters actually be alive for the end of the plot heavy parts (finishing soon before I run out of people with a pulse to write about) I am going to have a slower wind down than normal, with a couple of chapters of no plot, smut and fluffy scenes to make up for the fact I pretty much killed everyone you ever loved._**

**_Also, before you rip me a new one for the contents of this chapter…_**

**_Trust me._**

**_I'm an Author. _**

**_And I love you._**

**_(Honest) _**


	19. Chapter 19

Stiles sat on the other side of the door and looked at the Demon in front of him. Without a human skin, they looked… fugly. Stiles really couldn't think of another word to describe what was standing in front of him.

"You have made a terrible mistake." It hissed, looking at him with black eyes. It kind of reminded Stiles of the witch king from Lord Of the Rings. Questionable dental hygiene and everything.

"Well.. yeah." Stiles nodded. "I figured." He looked around. "So, this is hell then? Not exactly the best digs around."

"You seem… unaffected." The Demon looked… well… just as fugly as he had before, but Stiles could almost see the waves of uncertainty flowing off him.

"Nah, dude, look, this place is **_totally_** hell-like. Seriously. Good job with the bodies and the chains and stuff."

"You feel no fear?"

"Um… should I?" Stiles asked, looking about. "It's not exactly unexpected for hell to be rocking the fire and red colour scheme. I'm sure you did the best you could." Was he actually trying to comfort a Demon? He felt like he'd just insulted someone's house, or car, and was trying to cover up his social blunder. "Look, that over there? I don't even know what that **_is_**, but it looks painful. So… good job with that." He added.

"You will soon know pain." The Demon said, but from Stiles rather limited experience… this wasn't how the Demon was expecting this to go.

"Is this your first time?" Stiles asked, looking at the Demon. "With the whole 'torturing souls' thing?"

"No."

"Oh, well… You're doing a great job. I'm really terrified."

"I'm taking you to the Prince." The Demon snapped, teeth (or what Stiles thought might be teeth) actually gnashing together. "When he skins you alive, you will learn fear."

"Okay." Stiles nodded. "I've just closed the last door to hell, you know."

"We are aware."

"You're stuck here."

"So are you."

"Good point." Stiles nodded, getting to his feet. "Okay, take me to your leader."

* * *

The vests were still flashing as Dean worked. More and more people were helping now, but Dean had run out of knives so they were trying to pull the ropes off, or bite through the cords. He'd managed to get about half of the vests off, but even he could tell that the flashes were getting closer together. They were running out of time.

The demons that Cas had been fighting just suddenly stopped appearing, and he was now standing beside Dean, shoulders rubbing together as they worked in silence. No one was talking. The urgency of the situation was heavy in the air and no one wanted to waste time with words.

The Angel blade was sharper and faster than Deans knife, and soon more people were free, Cas working his way through the remaining people, leaving Dean to pull of the vests and point them in the correct direction.

When Dean pulled the last vest off, and the little boy (Christ, he could only have been 6 or 7) ran into the arms of a waiting adult, who picked him up and ran, Dean turned to Cas.

"You think we did good enough?"

"Yes, Dean." His Angel smiled. His face was dirty, hair plastered to his forehead and stinking of filth, but as Dean looked around the now empty tunnel, he thought he'd never looked better.

The lights of the vests were flashing faster together, almost a constant beam of light, and Dean knew they wouldn't clear the blast site now. He just hoped that the people had been smart enough to run as fast and far away as they could.

"If you die here, will you really **_die_**?"

"I am not sure." Cas shrugged. "Perhaps. I have no access to my grace here, but once free of my Vessel I may be able to return."

"I'm going to die here." Dean pointed out, head nodding at the scattered vests. "I'm not gonna get out of here in time."

"You will find yourself in Heaven, Dean." Cas said, stepping closer to him. "Of that I am certain."

"Will you be there?" Dean asked, and felt like a chick as soon as the words were out. "Or will you be looking out for some other poor idiot?" He added, trying to make it sound less like he was… you know… whatever.

"I will be there, if I can." Cas stated. "I am sure your Heaven will be… interesting."

"That managed to sound slightly insulting."

"It was not my intention."

Dean grinned, pulled him a few inches closer and kissed him. It was gross, both of them far too dirty and covered in filth and Demon blood, but if Dean was gonna die, he was gonna do it like this.

"I'm really sorry we put you through all this shit, Cas." He mumbled, not pulling away, just saying the words against his angels chapped lips. "I'm really sorry."

"I would do it again." Cas said, voice throbbing with honesty. "I would Fall. I would do it."

Dean kissed him again, because he was about to die and the last thing he wanted to experience was the feel of Castiel smiling against him.

"I'm sorry." He whispered.

"Do not be." Cas replied. Dean opened his mouth to tell him, tell him just **_once_** – that he needed him more than air, more than he even knew **_how_** to say – but he was cut off by a sudden burst of light, words never spoken.

* * *

"Dude, I'm really sorry." Sam whispered into Gabriel's matted hair. "You were the coolest person I never dated."

* * *

Derek howled against the door, slamming his shoulder into the stone again and again.

"Well, this didn't quite work out the way I'd planned." Lucifer frowned.

"You don't say." His brother sneered.

Derek howled.

* * *

When Dean opened his eyes he was standing on a long beach, pale sand under his feet, warm air swirling around him. He was wearing a thin white pair of cotton pants, and nothing else, the sun high and bright in the sky. He smiled, and walked towards the white villa – slowly, taking his time. He had all the time in the world. There was no rush, Castiel would be in the kitchen, maybe fussing over a salad and Dean was smiling as he walked.

It felt real.

Heaven was perfect.

* * *

Sam opened his eyes and looked around. This wasn't what he expected Heaven to be like. He knew what heaven was like, a picture perfect reel of your favourite moments, and he was pretty sure that this wasn't anything he'd seen before.

He was offered a drink by a luscious blond in bunny ears and a bright red smile, as dozens of bikini clad bunnies walked around in impossibly high heels. He'd gotten himself stuck in Dean's Heaven.

"Great." He sighed, following the uproarious laughter coming from the other side of the pool. This wasn't what he'd thought his heaven would be like, but he'd shared a space with Dean for most of his life so it only made sense he'd have to share his Heaven with him as well. At least his brother had ditched an eternal strip club for this though – Sam figured that was a **_step_** in the right direction.

"Dean, seriously?" He called over to the mass of giggling, busty bunnies and frowned. "The Playboy Mansion?"

"Ah, but look, Sammich!" A voice that certainly didn't belong to Dean called out from somewhere in the mass of tanned skin. "So many breasts!"

And, okay, maybe Sam laughed. Heaven wasn't so bad.

* * *

Lydia opened her eyes and looked around. She was standing in the renovated Hale house, the one Peter had been working on since he'd decided to stop trying to kill everything. It was dark outside, but the lights were on and the cut glass fittings that she had picked threw light around the empty room. She looked down, and smiled at the white summer dress and little white pumps she was wearing, giving a playful little twirl and letting her hair fan out around her.

"You really are something special, Miss Martin." A slightly cynical voice announced from the doorway.

"Why, yes, Mr Hale, I think I am." He was wearing a white suit, white shoes – and his hair was carefully styled. "One of these days you might just find out how special."

He smiled, and held out his hand, which she took without thinking, and twirled again.

* * *

Isaac opened his eyes and looked around. He was standing in the boys locker room in his lacrosse gear. The place didn't have that stale old socks and sweat scent that normally hung in the air, but a tangy fresh smell that reminded him of open fields.

"This isn't what I expected." He said, looking around.

"It's not that bad, though." A voice he'd have been able to pick out of a crowd said, and he could hear the smile in the words.

Danny walked around the lockers and smiled. He was wearing his lacrosse kit too – smelling perfect and clean. "It could be worse."

"Well, yeah." Isaac nodded, reaching out and grabbing Danny by the arm, just to check he was really there. "Just not what I expected of Heaven."

Danny kissed him, their first kiss, Isaac realised, and he grinned. "Not bad at all though."

* * *

Derek opened his eyes and found himself standing in Stiles room. The place was a mess, like normal, but the damage done by the break in was gone. This mess was the normal Stiles mess, and the air was heavy with his scent. Derek was scrubbed clean, clothes spotless.

"Stiles?" He asked, looking around. It took him a few moments to realise that the scents of the room were not vibrant, not alive. Stale – **_old_**.

He wasn't here, and Derek felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest.

He tipped his head back and howled.

* * *

"Dean," Cas was saying, or at least – trying to say – but Dean wasn't letting anything get in the way of what he wanted. He playfully nipped the Angels bottom lip and crowded him against the plaster wall, body pushing and desperate. The sound Cas made was… well, it was pretty fucking **_awesome_**, and Dean laughed. "Dean, listen to me."

"No." He grinned, hands pulling at clothes. "Why the fuck are you wearing this crap, Cas?" He groused, pulling back enough to glare at the trench and suit. "Seriously? You come into my heaven with more layers on than a damn **_nun_**." He kissed his angel again, for good measure, and frowned. "Seriously pissed." He added.

"Dean, this is not Heaven." Cas said, pushing him back slightly.

"Sure it is." Dean said, looking around. "I'm here, you're here… its perfect." He shrugged. "Dude, we got blown up." He pushed the coat from Castiels shoulders and rolled his hips into the slighter man, who groaned and looked like he was warring with himself – to give in or not to give in.

"Dean, this is **_not_** Heaven." The Angel pulled back, eyes blue and deep and honest. "Something is wrong."

**_Fuck_**.

Dean pulled back and glanced around. Aside from the knives in the block, he doubted there were any weapons in the Villa. "What's going on?" He asked, looking back at Cas.

"I don't know. I was… there, with you, and there was a light."

"The bombs."

"And then I opened my eyes and I was here," He shrugged, and you were walking through the door and… Why did you think **_this_** was what Heaven would be like?"

"Jesus, Cas, way to change the subject." Dean snapped. "What the hell else would heaven be?"

"The best parts of your life."

"This **_was_** the best part of my life." He shrugged. "I don't really have a lot of perfect moments to look back on."

He wasn't expecting Cas to kiss him then, not when something was going on that he'd not yet managed to explain, but Dean went with it. Why not? He was either actually dead and in Heaven (despite what Cas said) or he was alive in a place that could pass for Heaven, so what was the big deal?

Cas didn't deepen the kiss, just pulled back when Dean started to forget how to think properly. "Dean, we should not be here."

"Right." He agreed, looking down at the Angels clothes. He was pretty sure that Cas wouldn't be wearing so many layers in Heaven.

It took him longer than he cared to admit for everything to sink in.

"Sammy!" He said, pulling back, panic overtaking his actions. "Fuck, Cas! Where's Sammy?"

* * *

"Try this." Gabriel grinned at him, handing him another shot. "Tell me what you think."

The shot glasses were covering the table, and Sam was beyond drunk, a tiny sandy blond in what he assumed was a bathing suit (if a bathing suit consisted of nothing more than a few strings and a couple of triangles) rubbing suntan lotion into his back. He knocked back the shot along with Gabe, who had a tall, ripe, amazon of a woman sitting on his lap. Her breasts were level with his eyes and he **_really_** didn't seem to mind.

"Pumpkin?" Sam laughed. Jesus, he'd really stumbled into the Dean part of heaven if there were shots that tasted like pie.

"Ding ding ding!" Gabriel cheered. "He's got it in one! Sammy baby, you are on fire." He looked at the shot glasses and grinned hugely. "20 out of 20, I mean… I'm impressed."

"I'm pretty drunk, Gabe."

"Drunk enough to let me have my wicked way with you?"

"Almost." Sam grinned, because, fuckit, he was **_dead_**, and if you couldn't let your hair down when you were dead, when else were you gonna get the chance?

Gabriel laughed though, and handed him another shot glass. "Just say when, Sammich, and I will rock your world."

"Gabriel." A voice said from behind Sam, and he turned – rather unsteadily – to see Castiel standing in the middle of what looked like a harem of leggy blonds. "What are you doing?"

"He's about to rock my world." Sam slurred.

"Like fuck he is." Dean cut through. "Where the hell are we, Cas?"

"Heaven!" Sam grinned. "Thought it was **_yours_**, turns out, it's **_mine_**!"

"Yeah, cause this is what I think heaven is like." Dean said, looking around. "Shit," He suddenly cut out. "Is that Miss October?"

"No idea!"

"Sure is!" Gabe grinned, waving merrily. "Deano! Join us!"

"Sam, this is not Heaven." Castiel said, looking seriously awkward with the amount of skin being pushed against him. He looked like he wanted to hide behind Dean, who looked like he was trying to memorise every inch of the women around him. Sam grinned, wondering if Dean was gonna start taking notes.

"Sure it is!" He laughed, lifting another shot glass to his lips. "To Heaven! And Angels with **_biiiiig_** fucking wings!"

"Who has wings?" Dean asked, before pulling his gaze from the pool. "Sam, you aren't dead. This isn't heaven."

"Gotta be!" Sam pointed to Gabriel who was making out with the Amazonian woman on his lap. "Gabe is alive."

"Feeling pretty awesome, Deano!" Gabriel said, once he'd pulled back from the kiss. "Pretty great for a dead guy!"

"You aren't dead." Castiel repeated, touching two fingers to Sams forehead and pulling back. The sudden clarity was almost painful.

"Aww, Cassie! It took me **_hours_** to get him to that stage!"

"You aren't getting my baby brother drunk just so you can sleep with him." Dean bit out.

Sam looked over at the Archangel, who managed to look a little guilty. Sam snorted. "I'm not dead, am I?"

"I never said you were. I thought you were talking about… you know, heaven." He waved a hand around. "Not like… **_Heaven_**."

"What happened?"

"No idea!" Gabe grinned. "One moment I was pinned to a wall and my knight in plaid was saving my life – good job with **_that_**, by the way – and then I hope my eyes and I'm here." He paused. "And my Sammich is here, and everything is good."

"You were going to let me think I was dead!" Sam bit out.

"I'd have told you eventually!" Gabe insisted. "You know… before I rocked your world."

"You aren't rocking anything of mine." Sam glared. He ignored the bloom of heat under his skin at the thought of it.

"Gabriel, where are the others?"

"No idea."

"What about the kid?"

Sam could actually see Gabriel sober up. It was instant and sudden, and he went from looking like Gabe, the Trickster to Gabriel the Archangel in a matter of seconds.

"Fuck." He spat. "I forgot about my boy."

* * *

Lydia figured it out when there wasn't any food in the house, and the draft under the door was still there. "If this discount store version of Heaven is all I get for dying for a cause, I'm going to be seriously unamused." She said, looking around. She picked up the phone, wired to the wall and only recently connected. The dial tone was loud in her ear.

She pushed a number and let it ring. "Stilinski." The sheriffs voice came down the line. In the background she could hear an unmistakeable howl.

"Where is Stiles?" She asked immediately.

"We don't know." His voice was broken, shattered. In the background, Derek howled. Beside her, Peter looked worried.

"We're on our way."

* * *

Isaac was pretty sure that he wasn't dead. He worked it out somewhere around the point when his mobile started to ring in the middle of a pretty epic make-out session. Danny actually laughed into his mouth at the sound he made, which was weird and **_awesome_** at the same time.

"You'd better get that." He'd smiled, all white teeth and sunshine, pulling away as he spoke.

"It's not important." He mumbled, trying to grab him and pull him back to the bench he was sprawled on.

"Better get it, just in case."

Isaac grumbled, finding his mobile tucked into his jacket pocket, hanging on a peg. "What?" He snapped, not recognising the number.

"Stiles is missing." Lydia said, "We're at the Hale house, find Scott and get your ass over to his place **_now_**."

* * *

Dean stood in the living room of a house he'd never been in, and looked around. It was full of people, everyone talking, yelling – search parties were being arranged.

No one knew what had happened.

"I'm telling you, all the damage is gone!" Isaac, the blond werewolf who'd arrived dragging the once possessed Danny behind him. "The gas station isn't a hole in the ground, the power lines are up – no damage to houses, cars… nothing."

"We passed a bunch of people just going about like nothing happened." Scott added. "People we saved looked at us like they'd never seen us."

"It's like it never happened."

"Where the hell is my boy!" The sheriff yelled, cutting over their voices loudly. Silence fell.

From what Dean could gather, they had all found themselves in places they knew – or with people they liked. Isaac had shown up in the boys locker room of his school (Dean wasn't judging him on that, or anything, but really? That was a bit Debbie Does Dallas) Scott in the backseat of his moms car with his girlfriend (kudos, buddy!) and so on. Only Dean and Sam had found themselves out of town, and Dean thought that had more to do with the Angels they were with than anything else.

"I don't think you're going to like the answer to that." Gabriel said.

"He locked himself in Hell." A rough voice said, and Dean turned to find the Alpha walking down the stairs. He looked like he'd thrown a fit – looked half manic and a whole lot of dangerous. "He sacrificed himself."

* * *

Stiles kicked back and grinned at the Demon in front of him. He was the only one who was walking about with his 'human suit' and Stiles found it so much easier to talk to a guy who looked like a **_guy_** and not a fucking monster under the bed.

"Your move." He grinned.

He'd been stuck in hell for about a month, and for the first couple of days he'd skipped a fine line between panic and outright terror – until the Demons around him found that he couldn't be hurt.

At all.

Like, **_nothing_** hurt him.

It was slightly awesome.

So he spent most of his time hanging out with the Prince – now King – of Hell, playing chess and listening to him bitch about how he never signed up to become the top dog down under, and how many whiny little fuckers wanted to kill him.

"I miss my house." Crowley said, glaring at the board. It was a pretty cool board, although if you looked too long at the pieces they sometimes would move and that kind of freaked him out still. "It was a nice house."

"Still no way of getting you back upstairs?" Stiles asked, petting the hound that was sitting by his side. Once you got past the skinless-ness and all the teeth, they were actually… still pretty fucking terrifying… but the puppies seemed to like him and followed him everywhere. The demons weren't really sure how to take that, especially since one of them had been found viciously mauled to death (or whatever happened to kill demons in hell) after trying to stab Stiles in the back with a meat cleaver. He didn't get attacked anymore though.

"No." Crowley sighed. "Stuck here with these bunch of UNGRATEFUL BASTARDS is starting to get on my LAST FUCKING NERVE!" Stiles had gotten used to the outbursts. He just nodded.

"Could be worse, your royal nastiness." Stiles pointed out. "You could have been the poor shits on the other side of the door."

"True." The King of Hell nodded. "But then again I wouldn't have to deal with **_politics_**."

The way he said it made Stiles grin.

* * *

"You think this'll work?" Sam asked, looking at the sigils on the floor.

"Look, things are still going **_to_** hell," Gabriel said, looking around him. "People are still dicks, people are still dying. Which means that something is keeping the connection open."

* * *

Stiles was bored. Another week of having balls all to do but sit about whenever Crawley left to (actually really **_literally_**) raise a little Hell, was getting dull. Fast.

"Look, there has to be something I can do that doesn't involve torturing people." Stiles grumbled. "Dude, you don't have wifi, I'm suffering."

"This is Hell." Crowley shrugged. "It's what people **_DO_**!"

"Sherlock reference. Nice." He paused. "Gatis souled his soul, right?"

"You'll find out in 10 years."

"Sweet." He paused. "Back to my original point. Bored."

"I'll find something." Crowly replied.

* * *

Nothing was happening, and Dean could tell the others in the room were starting to lose their cool. Mostly, the Alpha werewolf who looked ready to leap forward and do a little throat ripping.

"Nothing is happening." Sam pointed out, looking at the signs on the floor that should, but now, be glowing.

"Thank you, Samsquatch, for pointing that out." Gabriel snapped, and Dean was pleased to think that it wasn't just him that got pissed off with Captain obvious.

* * *

Turned out that manning the phone-line in hell was not only super fucking funny, it was also pretty interesting.

"Sorry, dude, Hell is currently unable to grant wishes at this point."

"But you've got to help me!" The middle aged man whined. He was wearing a bathrobe that Stiles assumed was supposed to look mystic, and made him look like a bit of an idiot.

"Yeah, no. I **_don't_**." Stiles grinned. "Look, it's really not our issue that your dick has performance issues. Man up. Viagra is your friend."

"I offer my soul!"

"Yeah, we're all out of shits to give." Stiles shrugged, waving his hand over the goblet. The image of the man waivered and flickered out.

"I think you might be a natural." Crowley smirked, as Stiles picked up the baby hound that was trying to maul his ankle and smiled, petting it somewhere he thought its ears should be. On a regular dog. "Jobs yours if you want it."

* * *

"Welcome to Hell," Stiles image said, flickering in the middle of the circle. "We are currently on hiatus from all wish granting, vendetta enabling or dermatological emergencies you may have."

"Stiles?" Gabriel asked, looking at what should be a crossroads demon, and was, in fact, Stiles Stilinski. In a fitted suit.

"Gabe?" Stiles image flickered for a moment. "Holy crap! Gabe!" He grinned. "You guys took your time!"

"You gave in?"

"Huh?"

"You tortured souls!" Dean yelled, not believing what he was seeing. He was a Demon. They kid had been in hell a day and he'd already been turned into a demon.

"Ah, no." Stiles said, looking at Dean like he'd lost his mind. "I just answer the phone. I got bored."

"You… answer the phone?"

"Yeah! Seriously, you get all sorts. Mostly highschoolers with acne and a grudge, or like… middle aged men with erectile dysfunctions." He shrugged. "Better than sitting about teaching hell hounds to 'sit and stay' because they really don't give a **_crap_** about doggy treats."

"You've only been gone a day, Stiles." His father pointed out, and Dean grimaced. Yeah, he'd been gone longer than a day, really. In hell.

"I've been here a month and a half." Stiles said. "I got bored."

"So you're a demon?"

"I'm not a demon!" Stiles said. "I'm just me. Look, Seriously, can you get me out of here?"

"We were hoping to make a deal."

"Ah. Yeah. No deals." Stiles said, shaking his head. "Like, they don't **_work_**. Crowley tried, but… they don't stick."

"You know Crowley?" Sam asked, looking over at Dean with an expression somewhere around slight panic.

"Yeah, he gave me this job. Apparently my inability to be tortured, maimed, grossed out or bullied has made the locals pissy, and he wanted me out of the way." He paused. "Especially after what happened with Alastair."

"You know Alastair?" Dean asked, voice going dry. Fuck. He really didn't need those memories coming back now.

"You could say… I **_knew_** him. He tried to remove my spine with a cleaver." Stiles bent down and patted thin air. "Kujo, Fluffy and Fido really took that the wrong way." He paused. "They found most of him."

"You've got pet hellhounds." Dean spluttered. What the fuck was with this kid? Vessel, Prophet, Virgin… Demon Doggy Trainer?

"I'm not sure if they belong to **_me_**, or I belong to **_them_**, but… they're just big softies really."

"Sure." Dean nodded. "Yeah." One had ripped him to shreds and dragged his ass to hell. He wasn't convinced.

"Oh! Wait, hold the line." Stiles suddenly said, and his image flickered, only to be replaced by Crowley.

"Oh, the Brothers Dim." He snarked, shutting up as soon as he saw Gabriel standing there.

"You – are a crossroads demon." Gabriel said, looking like he was about to do some serious smiting. Dean did not want to be in Crowleys shoes.

"I was. Now I'm the King of Hell. Please, **_please_** take this kid off my hands, he's ruining me." Crowley said. "Look, I'll even do it on a promise, just get him out of here."

"What's wrong with him?"

"What's right about him?" The King of Hell snapped. "Look, he's immune down here. He can't see half the stuff that's here, walks through racks of souls and doesn't notice, killed my best torturer by accident, cheats at chess and isn't DEAD!"

* * *

In the end, getting out of Hell was easy. Kind of.

"What do you mean… let him **_kill_** me?" He yelled. "I don't want to die!"

"You don't belong in Hell." Gabriel was explaining, but Stiles wasn't listening.

"I don't want to die!"

"You'll end up in heaven!"

"How do you know?"

"I'm the most powerful Angel currently in existence."

"Does that work on **_all_** the boys?"

"Mostly, you smart little shit." Gabe laughed, with a wink. Stiles really wasn't happy about letting Crowley kill him. He wasn't even sure it could be done, because hadn't everyone tried to kill him when he'd arrived? "Look, just relax, let him kill you – painlessly – and you'll end up in Heaven. Then we can Angel Express you back to earth."

"I've been stuck here for **_months_**, Gabe, you think no one's tried to kill me?"

"It's only been two days on this end and you've not let anyone kill you. It's a… contract. You have to **_want_** to die."

"Oh, this is so not awesome."

"I promise I'll take you to a tittie bar when you get back."

"I'm gay, Gabe."

"So? They're still cool." He paused. "Just get yourself killed, Nerdalot, and we'll work something out, okay?"

* * *

Dean fucking loved the ocean. He adored it. He'd quite happily swim around all fucking day if he could figure out a way to get food delivered to him.

The beach was teaming with people.

Team Free Will.

It had gotten a **_lot_** larger.

Gabriel had Angel Expressed them all to some Australian beach – and was currently teaching Stiles and Scott to surf. Dean grinned, watching Sam faceplant (again) into the water. The possessed boy, Danny and the Argent girl had taken to the board like damn natives, and were currently catching some 'sweet waves' further out.

Dean was just… well… he was fucking **_frolicking_** – that's what he was doing. Jo (for some freaky-ass reason) really got on well with Isaac and Boyd – and some blond chick Dean didn't recognise - and were racing each other along the beach.

Ellen and the sheriff were arguing with Bobby about the best way to cook the burgers on the grill. Cas and Derek were just sitting on the beach, watching the others in the water, while Peter and Lydia seemed to have sunbathing down to a fine art.

All Dean could hear was laughter.

"Grubs up!" Bobby called, and Dean waded his way over to the sandy bank.

"Pretty good reward for saving the world." Sammy grinned at him, burger in hand, hair dripping saltwater and literally covered in sand.

Dean grinned.

* * *

**_I'm going to carry on with the plot-less happy ending for a few chapters, because I feel like this was lacking in smut. And I really, really like smut._**

**_However, for purposes of plot, the story is officially over. _**

**_Because I'm planning on doing a few chapters, I've left a few things out – mostly WTF actually happened – but don't expect masterful revelations._**

**_Expect porn. _**

**_Love you._**

**_(And I told you to trust me, didn't I?)_**


	20. Chapter 20

"You aren't keeping the car." His dad insisted, looking at the fire engine red Porsche on the driveway. It had a massive (disgustingly hilarious) orange and pink bow tied to the roof and a tag you could probably see from space: 'To Stiles, Zoom Zoom Bitches! Love & other spectator sports, Gabe!'

"You are **_not_** keeping this car."

* * *

"You aren't keeping the dog!"

The dog was… well… it **_looked_** like a dog, and Stiles was pretty sure his dad **_thought_** it was a dog. It wasn't a dog. It arrived on his doorstep with a yip, and then had (adorably) rolled over and played dead, just like Stiles had taught him. The tag on his collar said 'Kujo' and the note tucked in there said: 'You've **_ruined_** him. C.'

"You are **_not_** keeping the dog!"

* * *

"Where the hell did all these clothes come from?" His dad shouted and Stiles played tug on the carpet with Kujo and tried not to think about the second set of teeth and general skinless-ness that no one else could see. Stiles had two warring factions apparently begging for his attention – Gabe and Crowley had taken to one-upping each other with gifts. This week (Tuesday nights were always when they arrived for some reason) their pissing contest had replaced Stiles wardrobe with designer suits – he didn't even need to try them on to know they'd fit him – and a wide array of hoodies, plaid shirts and logo tees. But because Gabe and Crowley were… well, **_Gabe_** and **_Crowley_**, the clothes had spilled out of his closet (because it wasn't **_Narnia_**) down the hall, the stairs, and had stopped only when they'd hit the living-room.

He felt a bit like the child in the divorce, knew suddenly how Lydia felt with all those presents that her parents would give her to try and win her affections. Crowley thought he fit in with the Hell crowd (the alter in the basement still freaked his dad out, but it meant he could still play chess once or twice a week and the King of Hell could bitch about his job) and Gabe thought he was some kind of fairy god-father type – complete with wish granting (not cool, Stiles learned **_very_** quickly to watch what he said around Gabe) and waking up some mornings in another part of the world.

"Sorry!" He called down. "I'll try to pack them away!"

* * *

"Stiles, you look like sex on a stick." Lydia grinned, looking him over. "Seriously, I approve."

He'd grabbed the black suit from his (never-ending Narnia closet after a bitch to Gabe about storage) and found himself rocking the demon look more and more. He grinned.

"Thanks, Miss Martin. I'd like to point out that you are looking… well… just as perfect as ever."

She twirled, her formal dress fanning out and spinning with her. "I know."

Every week they had a standing date. It wasn't **_really_** a date, but it helped Lydia because her father liked Stiles' style – he always picked her up in the Porsche – and her mom liked his manners (flowers and door opening) and Lydia liked the fact that she didn't have to tell them yet that her **_actual_** boyfriend was older than her dad.

Stiles liked 'dating' Lydia. People knew he was gay – he'd come out officially a week after the whole 'Went to hell for a month or two then hung out in heaven for a few weeks' thing – but that didn't stop him from loving her. In a best friend sisterly kind of way.

And he really didn't mind that it drove Derek up the wall.

* * *

He was standing in the bathroom, trying to scrape the worst of the mud off his clothes before he threw them into the laundry basket. The festival had been amazing – he'd always wanted to go to Glastonbury – but the rain and the mud was something he hadn't expected.

Kujo – who was probably the best guard-not-really-a-dog in the world (much to Gabe's annoyance) let out a low growl.

"Can't you do something about this mutt?" Derek's voice growled, matching the pitch of Kujo almost perfectly.

"Dude, look, if you are gonna be a creeper via the window, you need to get used to the fact that my baby is gonna growl at you." He grinned, hauling off his (probably ruined) clothes. "I'm going in the shower – try not to kill him." He called out.

"I'm not going to touch it."

"I wasn't talking to **_you_**."

* * *

Things with Derek were… weird. Weirder than they had been because as far as Stiles was concerned he'd been gone for months and months after the whole 'Stiles just saved the world' thing, and everyone else acted like he'd stepped out for coffee. The only person who seemed to really understand what it was like had been Dean, and even then it wasn't the same because 1: Dean was not awesome at talking and 2: Dean had been horribly tortured and Stiles had played chess. However, the fact that Stiles had (almost completely accidently) had a pack of hell hounds rip Alistair apart went a long way with the hunter, who (on the rare occasions that their paths crossed) had stopped glaring at him whenever he opened his mouth and now referred to him solely as 'Gabe Jnr' or 'Baby Gabe'.

Stiles frowned, eyes flicking over to his phone. The worst thing was that Derek now totally knew that Stiles was 1: Openly gay and 2: Had a massive crush on him and 3: Wasn't doing anything about it.

* * *

It was only a matter of time before Stiles new car, new clothes and new attitude started getting him a new type of attention. He spent most of his time hanging out with Scott, Isaac and Danny (Boyd and Erica were there, but belonged in their own little world most of the time) but he'd made some new friends – Jungle, the only gay club in a 50 mile radius – was their new haunt. Allison loved it, dragging Scott, who got hit on more than Danny, Isaac and Stiles **_combined_** (much to his smug delight) along every Friday.

Stiles met Harvey there, who had a dog, played baseball and was Stiles first Proper Gay Kiss (As Lydia called it). It didn't last long – but it lasted long enough for Stiles to know that his Proper Gay **_Anything_** was going to be Derek Hale or not at all.

* * *

His 18th birthday was at Jungle. They'd actually waited till a month **_after_** his birthday to go, because the club was hosting a big Angels and Demons themed night and Stiles wanted that to be **_his_** event. No one but Gabe found it funny.

He invited Gabe – as well as Sam, Dean and Castiel – and had even tried to find if there was a way to get Crowley to go (even though he knew it wasn't possible).

When they got to the club, Gabe was already there, tinsel halo and plastic wings on his back – in full drag. The only reason Stiles had recognised him was there was really no mistaking Sam because he was about a mile taller than anyone else and was dressed in a pristine white suit.

"What Angel are you supposed to be, Conan?" Stiles grinned up at him, not even thinking about wrapping his arms about the older guys waist. Most of the time when Gabe scooped him up Sam was there and Stiles had kind of gotten into the Gabriel habit of being pretty handsy.

"Lucifer." Sam laughed.

"Um, dude was wore jeans and a Henley."

"Not when he wore **_me_**."

"Ew."

"Don't remind me." Gabe frowned. "**_I'm_** not even allowed to be inside you, I think it's gross my brother tapped that first."

Stiles left them to it. He actually talked to Gabe a lot – after all, the dude was like… **part** of him or whatever… so he'd already heard all of this. The fact that Sam was sticking to his 'not gay' guns was driving Gabe 'try anything once' insane. The funny thing was… Sam knew it, and found it too funny to give in. And Gabe knew that too. And Sam knew that he knew… Stiles grinned. Yeah, leave them to it – not everyone got the Big Gay Love.

Which was actually what everyone who knew them called Dean and Castiels relationship behind their backs. The Big Gay Love, because, for crying out loud, they were **_IT_**.

Dean 'Not Gay' Winchester and Castiel Angel of the Lord were probably the world's most sickening couple this side of Scott and Allison, for all Dean didn't even touch the Angel in public. Mostly.

Right now they were standing at the bar – wearing almost identical suit pants and white shirts with the sleeves rolled up – and Dean was growling at anyone who even looked like they **_might_** talk to Cas.

Stiles grinned and adjusted his horns. His suit – the red one with the black shirt – looked amazing in the club, and about three 'Angels' had already hit on him. The fact that Derek hadn't arrived was pissing him off though, as he danced with Allison (who was dressed as Buffy to Scotts 'Angel') and Erica (lady in red) like he didn't give a crap about Derek Hale.

Which was why he missed him arriving.

* * *

Stiles was hot and sweaty by the time the club really got started, drunk on the atmosphere and whatever Gabe was handing him in shot glasses. He was pretty sure they were non-alcoholic, because Sam wasn't bitching, but they seemed to pack a punch and Stiles loved everyone as he danced amongst the bodies on the floor.

"How much have you had to drink?" A rough voice said behind him, and Stiles knew it well enough to ignore the tug through his body.

"Ask Gabe!" He grinned, turning. Derek was all in black (shocker) and hadn't even bothered to stick a pair of horns on. Loser. He grabbed Derek's jacket and glared. "This is your outfit?"

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" Derek said, looking around. "Lots of people in black."

"No horns." Stiles frowned, pulling his own off and sticking them onto the top of Derek's head.

"What about you?"

Stiles grinned, and pulled himself closer to Derek. Rather than yell, he turned and – mouth inches from the Alphas ear – whispered, "I'm horny enough without them."

Okay, it was the lamest thing he'd probably ever said, but he was drunk, happy and standing hip to hip with the object of a yearlong Big Gay Crush so he figured he'd cut himself a little slack. It made Derek laugh, at least, horns askew and hands on Stiles hips to keep him from falling over in the mass of bodies on the dance floor.

So Stiles grinned back and kissed him.

* * *

It wasn't the first time Stiles had kissed Derek, but the time before didn't count as a proper kiss because Derek hadn't moved or done anything to reciprocate it. Stiles got the message – hurting but not really surprised – and hadn't even tried to do it since.

This time totally counted, because Derek Hale, the hottest guy Stiles had ever seen, was totally kissing him back. With **_tongue_**. And a slight hip roll that Stiles was sure he was doing just to ensure the heart attack he was having was going to kill him.

Jungle was a cool place, but it wasn't the kind of place Stiles wanted his first kiss with Derek Hale to be. He'd kind of hoped that it would take place in his room, once night with Derek the Creeper showing up (At least once a week, normally a Wednesday) to bully him into doing some research, and then getting all heated.

He'd wanted that, because it was his room, his bedroom, which had the added advantage of having a **_bed_**. And lube, and many, **_many_** condoms, because Stiles figured once he started having sex with Derek, he wasn't gonna want to **_stop_** having sex with Derek.

It was their first kiss and despite the circumstances, it was still pretty fucking good.

"Happy 18th." Derek said, once he'd pulled back.

"I've been 18 for a month." Stiles said, really not sure what he should be doing with his hands. His body.

"Well… it's like official." Derek shrugged. "With the party." He kissed Stiles again and that's when it hit him like a tonne of bricks.

"Were you waiting till I was 18?" He asked, pulling away.

Derek looked slightly uncomfortable. "Well… yeah."

"Holy shit."

* * *

Danny pulled Isaac out of the booth with a smile, and knew that the werewolf wasn't concerned with public displays of affection. His last couple of boyfriends had thought that making out in public was okay (Danny didn't) but thought holding hands was lame (Danny didn't). Isaac though, was more than happy to snuggle and hug and do all the things that Danny liked, because Isaac liked them too.

He knew Isaac was bi, which was okay – they'd talked about it, because they talked about everything after the whole 'Danny is a Demon' thing.

So he knew Isaac was a werewolf, and knew about Angels and Demons and the fact that Isaac lived with Derek and that his dad had been a total dick. They'd not had sex yet, because Danny wanted to wait until Isaac was ready, and Isaac thought he was, but… Danny just didn't want to screw it up.

Isaac grinned, letting himself get pulled and pointed in the direction Danny was trying to point him.

"Look." He pointed.

On the dance floor, wrapped up like they were the only people in the building, was Stiles and Derek.

"About time." Isaac laughed, wrapping his arms around Danny and kissing him on the back of the neck.

* * *

Stiles knew his dad wasn't expecting him home, more because his dad had showered and shaved and was wearing a little too much aftershave. There was a chance that if Stiles went back to his house he'd find his dad making out with Scott's mom, and both him and Scott had tried to burn that image from their minds (while totally bro-hugging out the chance they might be **_actual_** bro's one day).

So when Derek pulled up at what Stiles still thought as the Lahey House he wasn't worried his dad would be pacing the floors.

They managed to get out of the car (Derek hadn't stayed at the club long enough to even get a class of water) and into the dark house before Stiles leapt on him.

Everything was good. Everything was great – Derek was acting like a man possessed, mouth and hands everywhere all at once, pulling at his clothes and a low growl in his throat that Stiles found too hot to deal with. He wasn't that much shorter than Derek, but he was skinnier, and not as strong – so when Derek pushed him back into the wall, Stiles got that familiar rush of… something… down his spine. Derek used to do that a lot, throw Stiles into things, until one day Stiles hadn't been able to move his lower body back fast enough and Derek had found his thigh pushed against Stiles erection.

He'd stopped pushing Stiles into walls after that.

Now though, he was making up for it, and Stiles was loving that feel of too much and not enough – okay, so he'd found a kink and he was going with it – urging Derek on with moans and grunts and 'harder' until Derek gave him exactly what he wanted – teeth and claws and power.

His hands ripped through cloth – Stiles red suit was in tatters by the time they got to the bedroom, his body throbbing and wanting more – more of everything.

The feel of Derek's mouth on his neck, the sharp cut of teeth over his collarbone that made his hips buck unthinkingly… Stiles knew that there was no way he'd get this from anyone else.

He'd expected Derek, after waiting all this time, to savour the moment – take it slow, make sure this was what Stiles wanted. He had been wrong.

Derek slammed their bodies together as soon as he'd ripped (actually ripped, Stiles wasn't exaggerating) his own clothes off, hand fumbling with the bottle of lube that **_was already on the sideboard_** – dude knew when he'd left the house what was going to happen – and almost instantly pushing a thick, wet finger against Stiles ass.

As much as Stiles winced at the burn – he loved it, the feeling of Derek pushing a finger inside of him after waiting for what felt like years… he ground his hips down, trying to take more.

He was grateful, later, that Derek hadn't just taken that as permission to go to town, because even after half an hour of the world's most erotic prep, Stiles still lost his hard-on when Derek finally (God, **_finally_**!) lubed up his dick and pushed into him.

Derek wasn't anywhere near the same size as some of the porn that Stiles had watched, but he was bigger and thicker than Stiles – and it fucking hurt. The high pitched whine that escaped the back of his throat when Derek bottomed out was tense and louder than he hoped.

"Sorry." Derek grunted, eyes fading from the red they had been.

"It's good." Stiles panted, body not listening to the ache and hips rolling of their own accord. "Fuck." He whined, gripping onto Dereks shoulders. "It's okay. Just move."

It took a while, longer than Stiles would have liked and longer than Derek waited, for the pain to fade, but by then Stiles had a hand on his own dick and Derek was thrusting like a beast.

Stiles orgasm was ripped out of him unexpectedly, over too soon and tipping Derek over the edge with a howl.

* * *

When the sun came up, Stiles was hurting in places he really didn't want to hurt and Derek looked guilty as hell. He hadn't started apologising yet, but he was going to start soon, Stiles just knew.

"Dude, are you gonna make me breakfast or what?" He yawned, rolling over and climbing over Derek's body, legs on either side of his hips and half hard cock bouncing against skin. "Cause I totally deserve breakfast." He grinned.

Derek's eyes though, were skimming over his skin, eyes lingering over every bruise and bite. He was looking guiltier by the second, and Stiles really wasn't up for his cherry popping to be followed by a 'This shouldn't have happened' because fuck off – he'd been waiting forever to get Derek Hale into bed and he wasn't going to have him ruin in. "Seriously. Feed me." He leaned forward and kissed his Alpha, probably too roughly. "Food."

* * *

They had sex in the shower, and this time, it didn't hurt so badly. This time, Derek took things a little slower. This time, Stiles faced the wall and Derek stood behind him and Stiles felt like he had the starring role in his own porno, especially when – with a rock of his hips at a new angle – Derek hit something inside him that shot down Stiles balls and made him buck into Derek with force.

"Oh, fuck." He gasped, when Derek starting rutting properly, each hard push against that magic spot causing spots to form behind Stiles eyes. He came then, cum hitting the tiled wall without his hand ever going near his cock.

* * *

A week later, Stiles had figured out that the first time was never brilliant (who knew porn lied?) That your gag reflex was not to be ignored, that his dad had thought him and Derek had been dating for a year and that Lydia still expected him to open doors and take her out every Sunday.

"I was gonna spend the day with Derek." He shrugged down the phone, hoping to hell that she wasn't about to pitch a fit.

She pitched a fit.

"Bro's before Ho's!" She snapped. "If you aren't here, suited and carrying a dozen roses, in half an hour, Stiles, I'm telling your father that Kujo is a hellhound. Let's see how fast he lets you keep him."

"Your cockblocking, Lydia."

"Get over it."

* * *

A month later, Stiles learned that he had a **_serious_** fucking kink about being dominated and that Derek had figured it out waaaaay faster than he had, that Gabe could be a scary dude when he wanted to be, that Lydia's dad was hoping they'd get married and that his dad was dating Mellissa McCall.

"We didn't want to say anything at first, until we were sure about how we felt about each other." His dad was explaining. Stiles nodded, not trusting himself to speak. "I loved your mom, Stiles. I still love her, but I love Mellissa too – and I hope you understand that."

His phone was vibrating in his pocket, and he pulled it out with a 'sorry' to his dad.

"Did you get the speech?" Scott asked down the line.

"He's telling me now." Stiles replied, looking at his dad. "What did she go with?"

"I want you to know that you'll always be the most important man in my life."

"Aww!" Stiles grinned. "I got the basic 'time to move on' speech. Christ, why are you the favourite son already?" He paused. "Is it because I'm gay?"

Scott laughed down the line and his dad choked on his beer. "Homophobe." He grinned, laughing as it became apparent to his father than they'd both known for some time.

* * *

A year later, Stiles learned that sex **_can_** be awesome every single time, but sometimes wasn't, that Kujo really didn't like the new apartment he shared with Derek, that Lydia's parents had finally been told about Peter, Crowley was awesome at advice about most things, and Derek had a plain gold wedding band in a velvet box hidden in his sock drawer.

* * *

Two years after that, Stiles learned that college was hard, but adopting was harder, Lydia's diamond ring cost more than the house she was living in, calling Mellissa 'mom' was the easiest thing in the world, and that asking Gabriel to babysit was like handing explosives to a match.

* * *

Oh, and Kujo didn't take kindly to being neutered.


	21. Chapter 21

The funny thing was Sam had gotten to the stage with Gabriel that no matter **_what_** the trickster did now, it didn't shock him. The sudden parties, the food fights, the waking up in random places or even the constant parade of busty, leggy women.

But this, **_this_**kind of took him back a little.

"You okay?" He asked, looking at Gabriel on the bright red leather couch of the Vegas apartment he owned. The Angel was lounging (not unusual) fully clothed (somewhat unusual) and seemed to be missing any form of candy within reaching distance – which was why he was now looking at Gabriel with a worried expresion and his voice was slightly softer than normal.

"Sure am, Sammich!" He grinned. The grin didn't reach his eyes. "Stiles says 'Hi', by the way."

"You just back?"

"Sure are!"

"How is he?"

"Good. Great." The Angel looked at his feet. "Still fake dating that hot chick."

"Lydia."

"Yeah. Still got that not-a-dog following him around."

"Derek?"

"Ha!" Gabe snorted. "The other one. Kujo."

Ah, Sam thought looking away so Gabriel wouldn't see his smile. It had been like this a few times now. Gabriel really thought of Stiles as an extension of his own... body. Or something. Sam had come to understand that their relationship was more brotherly/fatherly/best-friendly and had just chalked it up to Gabe being Gabe.

"I asked him back for dinner, told him I'd cook," The Angel said, looking out of the wall of glass that showed the brightly lit strip stretched out below. They had the penthouse, of course. Nothing but the best. "But he had to get back for Crowley." He finished. "They're playing chess."

There it was.

Gabe got so fucking jealous of that kids' affection and time like Sam couldn't even start to understand it. The puppy-not-a-puppy (Sam didn't get it, it looked like a labradorish type dog, but Dean had freaked out and **_puked_** the first time he'd seen it and now wouldn't be in the same house as it) was something of a sore spot for the Archangel, because Stiles loved his not-a-dog, and so far Gabriel hadn't managed to get him anything of equal value.

And he'd been trying.

"What were you gonna make?" Sam asked, lifting Gabriel's legs off 'his' part of the couch and sitting down – only to have the Angel spin 180 and put his head on Sam's lap.

"Dunno." He shrugged. "Pasta maybe."

He wasn't even trying to make jokes about having his head in Sam's lap, which pointed to the seriousness of his mood. Sam petted the Angels hair – he'd done that before, when Gabe had just been a broken, still body, and he hated that he could still see that when he closed his eyes – untangling some of the longer strands. Gabe twisted so that he was facing away from Sam, looking out over the view. Sam found himself smiling. Sometimes the Archangel was a child.

"You wanna go somewhere instead then?" Sam asked, fingers running through Gabe's hair absentmindedly.

"I'm good here."

"Okay."

* * *

Sam was reading, trying to block out the sound of Gabriel arguing loudly with Dean. Castiel wasn't getting involved, just carried on cooking. Gabe was a fucking great cook, Sam had learned early on, but it apparently didn't run in the family. Castiel had stacks of cook books and followed them to the letter, and their last couple of meals had actually not been that bad. Nothing could have been worse than the time he'd mixed the sugar and the salt.

They had dinner once a week at 'Casa Novak' because Sam didn't like spending all his time away from Dean (refusing to acknowledge that shatteringly obvious co-dependency) and trying to get Dean to go to Vegas just took too long.

These meals though, weren't the 'once a month' family dinners that Dean insisted they had. Those were huge affairs, with their fucked up extended-family. Bobby, Ellen, Jo (who had started showing up with Balthazar) Ash and the whole Stiles pack. Those dinners took place anywhere, normally on a bright, sunny beach with a bonfire and a BBQ and way too much laughter.

"There was nothing wrong with Archer!" Dean half yelled, walking over to where Cas was carefully chopping bright red tomatoes. Sam was never going to get used to the fact that Dean didn't stomp everywhere anymore. He didn't think his brother owned a pair of boots. Or any type of shoes. If he found a pair of flip-flops he was going to rip him for all eternity.

Dean had taken to the beach-bum thing like a fish to water. While Sam really hadn't changed all that much, Dean had the perma-gold skin, more freckles and seemed to own no other item of clothing other than a pair of white linen trousers and black surf shorts. No shoes. No shirt.

"I'm just sayin he wasn't a patch on Janeway."

"He was awesome – come on, he even had the dog and everything." Dean grabbed the pitcher of juice (Sam was never going to come to terms with Deans dramatic reduction of alcohol, like... ever) and poured a large glass. "Sam, back me up here." He said, taking a deep drink.

"Not getting involved in this." He said, going back to his book.

"Cas!"

"I have not yet developed an opinion." Castiel said, still carefully cutting. Sam could hear the knife on the chopping board like a metronome.

"Lair." Dean muttered. "He's got a crush on Data."

Sam might have laughed.

* * *

There were three things Sam didn't like about Gabriel. 1: He would crawl into Sam's bed in the middle of the night. 2: Naked. 3: He hogged the covers.

* * *

There were three things Sam didn't like about Gabriel. 1: He talked all the way through a movie making it impossible to go to the cinema. 2: He would crunch popcorn obnoxiously through anything they watched. 3: He always tried to feel Sam up if the lights were off.

* * *

There were three things Sam didn't like about Gabriel. 1: He'd hit on anything with a pulse if they were at a bar. 2: He would try to get on stage with the strippers. 3: He always got tipped when he did.

* * *

There were three things Sam didn't like about Gabriel. 1: He'd bring random chicks back to the apartment without warning Sam first. 2: He'd disappear for days on end. 3: He'd not even try to hide a hickie.

* * *

He stopped hitting on Sam three days after Stiles 18th birthday party. Completely. Sam remembered the exact date because he'd set up the perfect innuendo laced 'innocent' conversation and Gabe never, ever, missed an opportunity to take part in one of those.

* * *

"You guys have a fight or something?" Dean asked. He was walking along the beach, looking like some kind of hippie in those white trousers and bare feet. Sam still had his jeans on, but he'd rolled up the hems so they wouldn't get wet when he walked along the damp sand.

"No, why?"

"He normally takes great delight in telling me all the terrible, terrible things he's been doing to since last time." Dean made a bitch-face. "In detail."

"You know we aren't... you know." He waved a hand at Dean, who looked affronted.

"Fuck you, I'm not," He waved a hand back. "Anything."

Sam stared at him, because well... what else **_could_**he do? Dean had never spoken about his relationship with Castiel at all, it was a no-go area and Sam had learned that any questions were shot down by a pissed off Dean and resulted in upset looks from the Angel.

"Whatever." He shrugged. He was too hot under his layers, and wished he'd taken off his shirt before heading out to the dot on the horizon Castiel told him was his brother. "He's just being... weird."

"I don't need a weird Archangel right now, Sam." Dean grumbled. "You left him with Cas. Now I'm gonna have to deal with a weird **_Cas_**, because his brother likes to **_share_** his moods."

"He's stopped flirting with me, that's all."

"That's **_all_**?" Dean half yelled. "Did you shit all over his porn collection or something? Dude's been trying to bang you for a year and now he's all 'nah, I'm good' and you don't think something might be **_wrong_**?" Deans eyes flickered over to the villa that was now clearly visible. Sam wondered what he was expecting to see.

"I think Stiles got laid." Sam shrugged. "I think he's jealous."

"Of Stiles?"

"Of **_Derek_** – you know how he is with the kid."

* * *

Sam lost his temper with Gabriel on a Thursday morning at 8.42am and ended up in bed with him by 8.56am.

"For fuck sake, Gabriel!" He snapped, reaching over the space and grabbing him by the front of his shirt. He'd been getting the silent treatment for almost a week and it was driving him insane, and (because he couldn't actually think of anything better to get his point across, apparently) he pushed the Angel against the refrigerator and kissed him hard.

* * *

Sex with Gabriel was... well... it was weird. Good, **_great_**, actually, but weird.

He made Sam laugh at really inopportune moments and threw off his rhythm more often that Sam would care to admit. He pulled at his hair (just because he knew Sam hated it) and was obscenely loud.

He wasn't above blackmail, bribery or both.

Which was why he was currently sitting in a jail cell. In a pair of bright pink Speedos. Trying to explain that it had all been a giant misunderstanding and that he wasn't **_actually_** a hooker.

The other guys in his cell were looking at him like he'd lost his mind and no one was believing him.

He had one phone call and he was debating who to call. Dean was **_out of the question_**, there was too much about the situation he didn't want to tell Bobby, and he was **_never_** going to talk to Gabriel again. So he dialled the only other person he thought might get him out of this mess.

An hour later, he was pulling on a pair of borrowed pants from the 'Lost & Found', getting an honest to god lecture from the officer who was helping him out.

He called John Stilinski later, and tried to apologise for the whole thing, but couldn't get much past the older man's actual guffawing laughter.

He was going to kill Gabriel.

* * *

There was no mistaking when it happened. It was like a bolt out of the blue – and it got ripped right out of him like a sneeze you weren't expecting.

Gabriel was wearing his 'kiss the cook' apron (and nothing else) shaking his ass in time with the music that was blaring through the beachfront property they were currently using. There were still bright red marks streaking his ass and back because Sam wasn't gentle and Gabriel was always egging him on for harder, rougher, more.

Sam was leaning against the island in the middle of the kitchen, about to go for his morning run, and it just... happened.

"I love you."

* * *

There were three things that Sam didn't mind about Gabriel. 1: He hogged the blankets but he gave Sam the extra pillow. 2: He slept naked. 3: He actually glowed if Sam kissed him unexpectedly.

* * *

There were three things that Sam didn't mind about Gabriel. 1: He curled up like a cat against Sam when they watched movies. 2: His popcorn bowl never ran out half way through. 3: He would try to make out with him if the lights were low.

* * *

There were three things Sam didn't mind about Gabriel. 1: He'd still hit on anything with a pulse if they were at a bar. 2: He would still try to get on stage with the strippers. 3: He always got tipped when he did, and Sam kept a fold of dollar bills in his jeans pocket just in case he didn't.

* * *

There were three things Sam didn't mind about Gabriel. 1: He'd occasionally mojo Dean and Cas to the apartment without warning Sam first. 2: He'd still disappear for days on end, but he called almost constantly. 3: He'd not even try to hide the hickies Sam gave him when they'd go visit people.

* * *

But there was only one thing Sam loved about Gabriel.

**_Gabriel_**.


	22. Chapter 22 - The Last Goodbye

Dean growled against the soft, pliant lips of his Angel and was rewarded by a hand fisting in his hair – a surge of strength that had him struggling for dominance. He grinned, teeth pulling on his bottom lip he pushed Cas against the white plaster wall.

There were things he needed to be thinking about – Sam, Hell, Bobby, he was pretty sure his baby was still parked on the street outside Stiles house – but his entire focus was swallowed by ocean blue eyes and a desperate, deep need that should have terrified him.

Castiel groaned into his mouth, hips rocking forward as he tried to ease the ache that was burning through his blood. Damn, Dean should have done this months ago. Years ago. This was what he needed. They were still fully clothed, making out like teenagers in an empty house – not knowing when they were going to be disturbed. Dean needed to slow down soon, or he was going to last about as long as a damn teenager.

"Dean," Cas moaned, and Dean couldn't help the stuttering buck of his hips. "Please." His voice was deeper than normal, gravely and Dean never really thought he'd lose control over two words.

His hands were everywhere, pulling at the layers of clothing between them desperately. Why the fuck did they wear so many clothes? Who needed a jacket, a shirt **_and_** a tee? He was already kicking his boots off when Cas reached for his belt, fingers sure and confident – nothing like the shaking hands that Dean was having to work with.

"We need to slow down." Dean groaned, as Cas hauled the leather strip and pulled it off completely, throwing his belt across the room.

"No." He rumbled, voice sending Deans blood pumping faster through his veins. His need was a white pinprick, body going much faster than his mind, a primal need taking over. Dean hadn't felt like this since… ever. Probably the first time he got a girl, when he was 15 and desperate to look like he knew what he was doing.

"Not gonna last." He managed, as Cas' hands found skin, pushing up under his t-shirt with a satisfied groan. "Fuck, Cas." He ground out, hips rocking forward without engaging his brain. Their make-out sessions had been something Cas had taken seriously, learning every part of Dean he could with a laser-like intensity, and he was applying his knowledge now in earnest. His fingers flexed against Deans ribs, dragging down the sides of his body too hard, then pushing suddenly, tipping Dean's centre of balance off and sending him sprawling over the bed.

He didn't wait, as soon as Dean's back hit the bed he was there, pushing down – slotting their hips together and grinding forward. He broke the kiss only long enough to pull Deans tee over his head, and let out a soft, mewling moan as he pushed their bodies – chest to chest – together.

It was the first time that Dean hadn't been in control of… whatever this was, and he was aware – dimly – that it was different this time. Different to have Cas pushing, demanding more, taking what he wanted, rather than happily taking whatever Dean gave him. Somewhere something had shifted, and Cas was taking full advantage of Dean's compliance.

He knew every part of Dean to touch – that patch of skin between his shoulder and ribs that made him arch up into Cas hard and desperate, the perfect pressure of teeth pulling on Dean's bottom lip that skirted painful and made him moan, one hand fisted in his short hair and tugging just hard enough to tip his head back and expose the tendon of his neck.

Dean was spiralling out of control, too hot, too fast – dimly aware that he was still in his jeans and that the last time he'd cum in his pants he'd been a virgin, but couldn't hold on to the thought. He'd never lost control with Cas, he'd always been able to stop before… before **_this_** – but he'd been the one showing Cas what his body could do and now Cas was showing Dean just how much he'd been paying attention.

He knew that if he came, if he lost it with Cas, that was it. He'd not be able to pretend that he was just helping out a buddy, showing him how to go about getting laid – Christ, if he did this he wasn't going to be able to leave.

Cas must have been able to sense the growing panic that was over-taking Dean, because suddenly his hand was covering Dean's cock through his jeans and his mouth nipped the skin on his collar bone and Dean was **_fucked_**.

He came hot and fast, body shuddering out a stuttered beat that ripped a harsh cry from his throat and spots forming over his vision.

It took longer for him to come back from his high than he wanted to admit, by the time he was aware enough of his surroundings, Cas was leaning over him, eyes huge and blue and slightly unsure.

Dean grimaced, feeling uncomfortable in his jeans and well aware that he'd lost his shit before Cas – eternal virgin, but the edge, the knife edge of want and need was dulled now, he was able to think properly.

He could feel the tension in the Angel, still hovering over him – still hard and untouched, but now looking wary, as though he wasn't sure if he'd done the right thing. Dean wasn't sure how to say it was okay – better than okay, really – so he pulled Cas down for a slower, surer kiss. This time he wasn't blinded by his own need, and was able to concentrate on the things he knew Cas liked – the pressure of tongue, the scrape of teeth, trying to tell him without words that it was okay, Dean wasn't mad, or pissed.

His mind though, was running through a million things. He'd just lost his shit with Cas – and yeah, he may have jerked off a lot since they'd started… whatever this was – but he'd never actually lost it **_with_** Cas. He'd cum harder than he had in a long time – in his jeans like a teenager – and knew that he'd crossed a line he'd been dancing around for a while.

He wasn't gay.

But it was probably time to admit he wasn't exactly straight either.

* * *

After he'd kissed and rocked into Cas enough for the Angel to throw back his head and buck mindlessly into Dean's still soft cock till there was a matching patch of wetness on the Angels suit pants, Dean pushed them both to their feet.

He was a little surprised that he was still shaking enough for his knees to buckle slightly as he stood, swaying in the air for a moment or two before he gained his balance.

There was a trail of clothes from the door to the bed, and Dean wondered if it would feel… different… if he was looking at a bra or blouse, rather than a shirt and tie. Probably. He was man enough to admit that if it was a bra he probably wouldn't have jazzed in his pants like a teenager.

"Right, okay." He said, voice rough and sounding like he'd just gone through some marathon sex rather than dry humping a guy. "I'm gonna have a shower, and… you… get something to eat." He waved in the direction of the small kitchen.

The shower was small and the water pressure wasn't the best, but Dean was grateful for the time it took him to wash – time to clear his head and cool his blood back from boiling.

He'd done it, then, dimly aware that he'd been waiting for this moment to come. He knew, eventually, he'd end up going further with Cas than he should, but he'd expected to feel… different.

He expected to feel dirty or wrong, but mostly he just felt shaky and exhausted. Felt like it was normal, it was okay.

He dried himself roughly with a towel, noticing that his jeans were already gone, and in their place a pair of white linen pants – he'd been here a few times now, and knew that anything thicker would make him sweat like hell, so he pulled them on without thinking.

Cas was in the kitchen opening plastic containers that held an array of food. The Angel didn't eat normally, but he had told Dean after a particularly extended make-out that he felt a hunger for food after their 'activities'. Dean nearly passed out when his brain idly wondered just how much the Angel would eat after Dean fucked him into the mattress.

* * *

They went for a walk along the beach after eating, because Cas told him it would aid digestion – something that sounded suspiciously like Sam's interference. Dean went along with it because it was warm and sunny and he was feeling calmer than he had in a while.

Distantly, he knew that long walks on the beach were veering dangerously into chick-flick territory, but it wasn't like they were holding hands, so it was just… you know… exercise.

"What the fuck happened, Cas?" He asked after a while. "One moment we're about to be blown to hell and the next we're… here."

Cas looked out over the water, feet sinking into the warm sand as he walked. "I believe that Stiles sacrifice saved us."

"Saved Gabe?"

"I think that was… something else." Cas admitted, "But I am not sure… what."

"You've got an idea though," Dean pushed, because he knew that his Angel would have thought about this a lot more than he had.

"I think… I believe…" He trailed off for a moment before turning to look at Dean. "Stiles said he saw God, saw my Father – he was a prophet, even if only for a short time… but I hope that… I want to think that perhaps my Father saw, and knew."

"You think **_God_** saved us?"

Cas was silent for a long time, walking along the pale sand and keeping his eyes anywhere but on Dean. "Yes," He said, finally, voice low. "I think He did."

* * *

"I'm not going to Vegas." Dean said, stubbornly. "Fuck that. I'm on vacation. If I got there something'll happen and I'll have to go kill shit and I'm not going."

Cas was sitting on the whitewashed brick wall that surrounded the small tiled yard that they used as a seating area outside because the villa only had the kitchen and bedroom. He wasn't trying to convince Dean too hard, he knew, because he didn't want to go either. Dean wasn't sure if it had something to do with the fact that here they could just be… them… and if they went back to the world that Dean would pull away.

And Dean knew he'd pull away, because he wouldn't be able to help it.

"Gabriel is insistent that Sam wants to see you."

"They can come here then."

"I will tell him." Cas shrugged, before disappearing, not trying to further the point. Dean wondered if he told Gabriel that he'd really tried and Dean was just being stubborn. Whatever, he was on vacation and he wasn't going anywhere. The world had been saved enough and he was going to enjoy this little patch of it that was his. Thiers. Whatever.

* * *

Dean had been doing some… research… when Cas was away, using the laptop that he'd asked the Angel to bring him. Sam had spent him a few emails, mostly telling him not to fuck up the thing with porn, but Dean was looking at a different kind of porn now, and felt completely out of his depth.

He'd been doing this… thing… with Cas for a few weeks, never going any further than handjobs (which were **_awesome_**) but he knew that Cas was keen to try more, assuming that Dean was some kind of expert on every part of sex. Dean had freaked out on his first internet search, because – damn, there were things he didn't need to see – but he was back again, ignoring the fact that guy porn was mostly huge cocks and guys with bodies that made Dean look like a damn… twink. He figured he knew enough about blowjobs because he'd been on the receiving end of more than his fair share, but the actual… sex… he wasn't too sure on.

He'd done… stuff (he still didn't feel comfortable thinking the word anal in the same head space as Cas) with chicks before, but didn't think they pay off was worth the prep – and the complaining wasn't awesome either.

But he'd been reading, doing proper research (Sammy would be so **_proud_** if it wasn't porn) and had found that guy sex was a little different. He'd taken a shower when Cas was away and tried it out himself, afterall, it wasn't so different than jacking off, it was still his own body. He'd spent most of the shower feeling fucking weird and seriously uncomfortable – and then he'd worked out where his prostate was and **_damn_**. His showers recently had been a lot longer.

He just needed to be able to… you know… do it to Cas.

* * *

In the end, it wasn't so complicated, and it wasn't what Dean had thought would go down. He'd been in the shower, Cas going away and doing whatever it was he did when he wasn't with Dean.

Dean had spent the morning looking at his usual girl porn, because it still got him hard and didn't make him feel like he needed to hit a damn gym or grow a few inches below the belt, and his body was thrumming for more than just a regular jerk off. His head was resting on the white tile as he worked another finger inside himself, pushing and twisting. The water washed the sweat off his skin as soon as it formed, and Dean bit on his lip to stop himself from grunting. He was relieved that he'd not worked **_this_** out sharing a space with Sam, because jerking off in the shower was easy and quiet, while this… **_this_** bypassed his control – sounds he'd never made before spilling over his lips.

He was struggling to hit the right spot today though, almost getting it then losing the angle, frustration making him push another, third finger inside his body. It was more than he'd done before – expecting pain but only getting a burn that punched the air out of his lungs with a groan.

"Dean?" Cas' voice said, close enough that he knew he was standing in the bedroom, close enough that Dean knew he could hear the noises that were spilling from his lips. Just the sound of his voice made Deans cock twitch, pre-cum forming on the tip, only to be washed away from the water.

He groaned again, unable to form the words, but knowing that Cas could hear him was almost enough.

The shower was small, but it wasn't the first time that Cas had joined him inside, they'd shared messy handjobs and washed each other clean, learning where to touch and where to bite in the small space.

This time though, Dean knew that what he'd been expecting… wasn't what was going to happen. "Dean?" Cas repeated, body pressed close against Deans back, mouth on his shoulder. It was a question, they both knew it, and Dean… well… he just nodded, moving his hand away so that Cas was able to lean closer.

Dean could feel the rub of his Angel's cock against the crack of his ass, not the first time, but the first time Dean had needed more. "Dean?" Cas repeated, voice rough and tense, because this time he knew what Dean was willing to let him do.

"Just fucking **_do_** it." Dean snapped, aware that if they waited any longer it wasn't going to happen, and he needed Cas **_now_**.

Dean had expected the Angel to fumble. He'd expected their first time to be… well… not this – he'd planned on being the one who pushed into Cas, make Cas stretch and burn – but as the Angel pushed his cock-head into his body, Dean whined with need. It hurt, probably because he was tense as fuck – and Cas was thicker than a couple of fingers, but Dean had never felt anything like it.

Cas continued to push, confident in a way Dean wasn't expecting, until they were pressed tightly against each other and Cas was completely inside him.

Any hard-on that Dean had was gone now, the pain and overall wrongness chasing it away, but Cas was hard as a damn rock inside him, tension radiating off him in waves. The Angel rocked him hips forward, as though he couldn't help it, a guttural groan against Deans shoulder. He rocked again, and this time the pain was… less… once more and the pain took a back seat to the sudden urgent need that washed through Dean like a wave. "Move." He growled, and…

**_Fuck_**.

It was the last coherent thought he had.

* * *

Dean flat out **_refused_** to be the chick in the relationship, no matter who was getting and who was giving. It just wasn't in his nature to roll over and play dead, and Castiel was more than happy to try out new things.

Cas liked sudden, rough and wild – pushed up against the wall, or the table, or anywhere else Dean shoved him. Dean liked the slow burn – late nights and lazy mornings, showers and taking their time. Both worked, and Dean didn't feel like he was… you know… the **_chick_**.

* * *

It was hard though, for Cas, and Dean knew the Angel put up with a lot of shit from him. Times like these, watching bodies on the dancefloor – watching his damn brother get hit on by an Archangel in drag – was hard for him. He just wasn't able to be… that.

Cas took it okay, really, when Dean pulled away from him in public, or shot him warning glances when the Angel would forget that they weren't alone. Dean tried to make it up to him later, watching a movie in bed (the flat screen entertainment centre was his pride and joy) when he'd curl up and try to be the best… boyfr – **_whatever_**… that he could be.

Mostly Cas didn't complain.

Then one day, they were having dinner outside, sitting on the wooden benches with Sam and Gabe who came once a week without fail for food and arguments, and his brother just… kissed the Archangel.

Right there.

In front of Dean.

And Cas wasn't happy.

* * *

No one mentioned it, because Dean wasn't about to ask about his brothers sex life, and he really wasn't going to ask about Sam's sex life with a **_dude_**, but things changed.

Gabriel was brash and loud and didn't give a fuck that people would stare when he'd grab Sam's ass in public, or kiss him, or talk (loudly) about how great he was in bed (Dean was scarred for life). The fact that Sam just laughed it off was something Dean was never going to be able to understand.

The worst part though, was that Gabriel didn't keep his opinions to himself.

Dean knew, okay, he knew people… knew. About them. About the sex thing. They lived together on a damn beach, for Christ sake, it wasn't like they were hiding anything. He just didn't want people to talk about it. It was personal. Private.

Thiers.

But a few months after it became super clear to anyone within a 100 mile radius that Sam and Gabe were a thing, people started looking at Dean like he was supposed to do something. Say something.

And a few weeks after that, **_Cas_** started looking at him life he was supposed to say something.

* * *

Dean wasn't an idiot.

He acted like one sometimes, but he wasn't actually stupid.

So one night, lying in bed watching Stargate, Cas telling him why he believed that Jonas was a decent replacement for Jackson (Angels, seriously, knew **_nothing_**), Dean reached into the drawer were the lube was kept and pulled out the box that was there.

"Here." He said, roughly, pushing the box into his Angels hand. He didn't turn or look at him when he heard him open the box, because Dean knew what was inside. He'd thought of it before Sam and Gabe became a thing, before he felt weird and pressured into something he wasn't comfortable with.

Inside was a simple silver ring, nothing much, just… plain. He'd had it stashed in there for too long, because he'd hoped that Cas would find it one day and he'd not have to make a big scene or whatever, just shrug and say, _'well, it's yours'_ and that would be it.

"Thank you." Cas said, voice calm and steady, which was good, because Dean was starting to sweat.

"Whatever." He shrugged, "Jonas is a dick."

"He is capable and aware that he is a replacement for a much loved member of the team." Cas leaned into Dean, hand snaking around his waist, band of silver flashing in the light of the TV.

"Jackson is better. When he gets back, its better."

"I thought he was dead."

"He dies all the time." Dean shrugged. "Worse than Sammy."

* * *

"Gabriel, I understand that you believe yourself right in all things, but you are, in fact, mistaken."

"He's a **_God_**."

"And Tony Stark is a genius." Cas replied, voice steady. "He is far superior to a warmongering child."

Sam was staring at Cas like he'd been taken over by pod people, while Dean kicked back on the beach and let their conversation flow over him. Cas had actually loved super hero movies, so Dean had been going through as many as he could find.

"Thor," Gabriel spluttered, "Learned from his mistakes! Tony only loves himself."

"Pepper Potts!" Dean cut in. "He's got Pepper." He glanced over at Cas, smirking_. I got your back_, he mouthed with a wink.

"She's not even a thing!" Gabe shot back, "She's nowhere near enough-"

"Pepper is a capable woman, who has shown on **_several_** occasions that she is an equal to Stark." Cas said smoothly, not even letting his brother finish his sentence.

"You did this!" Gabe pointed directly to Dean. "You did this to him."

"Don't be ridiculous, Gabriel." Cas said calmly. "Dean prefers Captain America."

* * *

Somewhere, in a place unremarkable to anyone, a young woman screamed in pain. She had made some mistakes in her life, but prayed that she'd have the strength to get through this – get through the pain and the fear.

Her son was born first, grey and wrinkled, on the bathroom floor of the motel, followed by his brother – twin in the womb.

The girl, who would learn how to be a mother later, learned how to love instantly as she cleaned them, and herself, up.

She would grow, work hard and see her children graduate, love in her heart and pride for what they achieved coming from such a horrible start, on a cold bathroom floor.

They would love her unconditionally, see the good in the world and understand humanity better for the struggle they saw their mother overcome.

They would love, and help, and learn.

But for now, they were just two little babies, helpless and cold, crying and scared.

"Shhh," She soothed, holding them close, wrapped in a blanket she'd bought in a thrift store. "Shhh, my angels."

There was only one book in the motel, a tattered copy of Gideon's Bible, and she'd read it twice, seeking guidance.

She looked at it again, later, seeking inspiration as she sang softly to her sleeping angels.

"Michael," she smiled, looking at her first born. "Because you were first, and… Lucifer, because you are beautiful."

* * *

And somewhere, looking down, a Father saw. He saw what they would be, and what they would learn from this gentle woman. He saw how her love would be pure and whole, and how it would change them, make them into something new.

How they would be when they returned to the host, reborn in love.

And it was good.

* * *

**_So… _**

**_I sorta maybe didn't give you as much smut as I said I was going to, but I got a little side-tracked with domestic!Cas and beach!Dean (you have no idea how much I need to see Dean on a beach right now) and I don't think Dean is ever going to be Rainbows and Gay Pride, but I don't think that'll matter much on his little patch of Heaven._**

**_I didn't want to leave Michael and Lucifer in the cage. I get the feeling if God was going to save Team Free Will, he'd save his Sons too. Just… not in the way they thought. _**

**_Dean likes Captain America because he doesn't understand that reference, and Cas likes Tony because he's… well… Dean._**

**_And Gabe likes Thor for obvious reasons that have nothing to do with his long hair. Honest. _**

**_Although never mentioned, Sam doesn't have a thing for Loki (much to Gabriel's distress) and spends hours after the movie talking about how Coulson shouldn't have died._**

**_I'm going back to a full TeenWolf non-crossover next._**

**_AU, all human, mature._**

**_So far I've got no plot, just a prompt from Tumblr that I love._**

**_Depending on how much I can get done I'll either start posting it tomorrow or Wednesday – if you've been following me for a while you'll know I can't really seem to take a break from writing, so might as well get into something new as soon as possible!_**

* * *

**_I'd like to take this time to say thank you so much for all the reviews and messages. I really, really appreciate the time you took to let me know what you liked and didn't, for sticking with me even though I made some grammar and spelling mistakes (I'm still flying free without a beta and trying to squish out my Scottish/Brit-Speak) and taking some pretty wide liberties within both TW and SPN! _**

**_It's the reviews that keep me focused and motivated to write, so thank you._**

**_Love, Hugs and Other Spectator Sports, _**

**_Robyn aka 74days_**


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